Something About Mark
by phorosz
Summary: Following the death of their mother, 12 year-old Henry Evans and his younger brother and sister are sent to their cousins' home in northern California while their father goes overseas on business. Henry soon discovers that their oldest cousin, Mark, is a sociopath with a love of deadly games, hiding under a mask of innocence, and sets out to stop him from committing murder...
1. Chapter 1 - Mom

_A/N: I'm certain that I'm not the first person to think of this (e.g., a complete role reversal for Mark and Henry), but here it is nonetheless:_

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Mom**

**December 1, 1993**

* * *

For an instant, one circle eclipsed another. One was a fluorescent light that hung from the ceiling of the gym, the other an orange and black basketball. Twelve year-old Henry Evans caught his breath and positioned himself beneath the one that was falling. It landed in his outstretched hands with a dull smack.

"Go! Go! Go!"

"Defense! Defense!"

"Score!"

The shouts and cheers were coming from everywhere. They came from the bleachers, where well over a hundred parents, teachers, and fellow students watched, some standing stock-still, others – like the cheerleading squad – jumping up and down with great enthusiasm. They also came from Henry's teammates of Rock Harbor Middle School, now spread out beside him as he began to dribble the ball across the court. And they came from the opposing players – out of Biloxi Junior High in West Florida – yelling at each other to get into position.

Of average height and well-built for his age, Henry was athletic and an able basketball player, so dribbling the ball was almost like second nature to him. His eyes scanned the court ahead, looking for a teammate to pass to or a foe to fake around. Two kids from the opposing team were now closing in on him, and Henry deftly passed the ball to his left. Dylan Connors, one of Henry's best friends and his team's small forward, caught it, faked around an opponent, and passed it back to him.

As he dribbled across the midcourt line, Henry could see teammates to his right and left, and two nervous guards from the other team backing up. He knew a good clean basket when he saw it.

He could almost see the ball sailing through the air and dropping through the net...

But then a ref's whistle suddenly blew, halting the game.

Henry stopped, puzzled, and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked and badly tousled shaggy blond hair. He was certain his team wasn't offside, and hadn't seen anyone from his team commit a foul, either. Henry instinctively looked toward the bleachers. There, he saw something that made him freeze: his father on the sideline, holding his jacket and blue gym bag, his younger brother and sister standing beside him. Coach Mason was waving for him to come off the court. Eli Matheson would be substituting for him.

Henry knew well the reason he was being taken out of the game had absolutely nothing to do with sports.

It was his mother.

For a time back in the game, he'd managed not to think about her. But now the thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, despite the stuffy atmosphere in the gym. He started to jog slowly off the court. And as Eli walked by, he patted Henry sympathetically on the shoulder, a solemn look on his face.

"Sorry, man."

Everyone at school – and almost everybody in town for that matter – knew about his mother.

Henry reached the sidelines. He was only half-aware of Coach Mason telling him he'd played a good game. Meanwhile, his father stepped toward him, holding out the gym bag and his jacket, while his sister, six year-old Connie, silently stood back with their little brother, four year-old Richard. Richard often reminded Henry of himself at that age.

"It's not..." Henry couldn't get the words out. It couldn't be the end. Not yet...

"No." Wallace Evans shook his head. Wallace was a handsome man of above-average height in his early forties, with wavy blond hair that he normally combed back. He was wearing a light brown suit jacket and khaki pants that were slightly wrinkled at the knees and elbows.

"Then why?" Henry asked as he slipped on his jacket.

"Dr. Callaghan thinks it might be soon," Wallace answered. "He said you guys should come now."

They started out of the gym and down the hall toward the exit. A loud blaring and then a dull roar went up from the gym behind them, but Henry didn't even consider turning around.

Henry shivered as they stepped out into the parking lot. He was still wearing his basketball uniform, which was hardly conducive to warmth in the thirty-degree winter air of coastal Maine. They stopped to either side of the family car, an early model blue Ford Taurus with lightly faded paint.

"You aren't going to call the rest of the family now, are you?" Henry asked as he opened the back door for Connie and Richard.

Their father was quiet for a moment. Then he responded.

"Yes, Henry. I am," he said in a halting voice.

So this was it.

As he got in and buckled his seatbelt, Henry felt a pang of emotion deep within himself. His father had once told him that he wouldn't call anyone until the end was truly upon them. Ever since then, it had been that one question Henry had always asked.

Wallace gunned the engine and drove from the parking lot.

As long as anyone hadn't been called, there was hope.

* * *

The hospital was of late post-war construction and had the overall color of dull gray concrete intermixed with red brick. It was surrounded by a few small gardens of gravel, pine and maple trees, and assorted bushes.

Henry nervously counted the seconds that ticked by before the elevator came to a stop at their all-too frequent destination on the fourth floor. As they set out down the long corridor, the late afternoon sun sent yellow shafts of light through the window blinds and open doorways. The sun, as it always did at this time of year, seemed to be in a hurry to turn a fiery red and disappear behind the mountains and hills to the west.

The hall smelled of medicine. Henry's heart beat a touch faster and he experienced the mixture of dread and longing he always felt when they came to the hospital. Ahead was his mother's private room, and as they approached, Dr. John Callaghan, wearing a set of green-blue scrubs and stethoscope, stepped out. The gray-haired older man looked over his bifocals at the approaching family. Sometimes in the past, he'd smiled when he saw them coming.

Today he did not.

Callaghan met them outside the room.

"Can we go in?" Wallace asked.

"She's asleep," Callaghan said. He glanced quickly at Henry, Connie, and Richard. "But I think this might be a good time for them to see her."

"Thanks, John," Wallace said. He and the kids started toward the doorway, but Callaghan put a hand on Wallace's shoulder.

"Wallace, could you stay out here a moment? There are a few things I think we should speak about."

Now without their father, the children hesitated by the door. But Wallace Evans nodded slightly, letting Henry know that they should go ahead.

Henry led his siblings into the dimly-lit room. The lights were off and the shade had been pulled down, allowing only a narrow shaft of yellow-red sunlight in. Susan Evans lay propped up by several pillows, her badly fatigued, shadow-ringed eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape. A nasal cannula ran from a tank of oxygen into her nostrils, while a rack with several semi-transparent bags of multi-colored IV solution hung off to one side of the bed and fed down through a long tube into the back of her hand.

Henry felt a sensation of despair and Connie squeezed his hand. Their mother no longer possessed the aura of energy that had so long sustained her through life.

He could all too easily remember the day that she'd told them what was happening to her.

_"It's cancer," Susan said, her face a mix of emotion._

_ Henry stifled a gasp and choked back tears in that moment, while Wallace did his best to keep a cool and level head about the news. Connie and Richard were still frightened as well, but, for the moment, were blissfully ignorant of the meaning of their mother's words._

_ "What do the doctors say, Sus?" Wallace asked._

_ "They – they say it's inoperable, even by NCD standards."_

_ Wallace looked like he had taken a stab to the heart. "Are they certain?"_

_ Susan nodded solemnly in reply._

_ "Have – have they given..." Wallace stuttered, barely able to form his own words._

_ "They're not entirely certain, but their best guess is six to seven months."_

_ It was at that moment Henry finally let the tears out and ran over to hug his mother. He hugged her tight and didn't want to ever let go. It wasn't long before Connie and Richard joined him._

_ "Oh, kids... I – I love you, too," Susan said, her voice quavering as tears began to spill from her eyes._

Before now, Henry and his siblings had never doubted that their mother would somehow get better, but even though they had seen her in this worn-out condition several times, neither Henry nor Connie still couldn't bring themselves to believe it. Richard, young though he was, now reluctantly understood what was happening.

Their mother was really dying.

Connie and Richard sat in chairs beside the bed, while Henry dropped into a worn leather sofa in the corner. Out of a sense of pure curiosity and near-impossible hope, he glanced around at the equipment and the things on her night table, as if there might be something there that would indicate her condition was actually improving despite the grim look on Dr. Callaghan's face.

But nothing was different. All the equipment necessary to keep their mother alive was still there. The vase of roses Connie had specially picked out was still on the night table, only the roses had started to wilt. Next to them was a photograph in a silver frame. It was a photograph of their mother in a long green dress, a broad smile on her face, walking with the three of them through a grove of dogwood trees in full bloom.

It seemed almost impossible that the photo had been taken just the spring before.

Henry reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out the crude wooden statue he'd made for her in shop class. His teacher, Mr. Sean, had, when he was younger, gone down the Amazon in a canoe and visited a remote tribe in the jungle. And he said that when someone in the tribe got sick, they would carve a wooden statue, to help take the sickness away. Henry knew it wouldn't _really_ work. But at this point, even the smallest sliver of hope, no matter how impossible, was better than nothing at all, if only for Connie and Richard's sake.

He walked over and placed it on the pillows beside their mother's head.

After staring down at her for a time, Henry walked over to the window and peered through the blinds. He was greeted by a fierce glare of yellow sunlight that half-blinded him and carved a narrow path through the semi-darkness. Just as quickly, Henry closed the blinds once again.

Susan Evans' eyes suddenly flickered and opened on the sight of her children. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Henry got the feeling that she didn't know where she was. Then, she seemed to focus on him, and a small smile appeared on her badly chapped lips.

"Hey, you guys..." She spoke slowly and with effort, but even in her debilitated state, Henry could still feel her love for him, for all of them, if only from a few short words.

"Hi, Mom." Henry sidled back up to the bed, and Connie led Richard over by the hand.

"Why didn't you wake me?" his mother asked.

"We thought you probably needed the sleep."

"You know I'd rather see my kids," Susan said. "I've been waiting. To talk with you."

Henry stopped breathing for a moment, and Connie audibly gulped, while Richard clung tightly to his sister. They had all been dreading this.

Did she want to say goodbye? Or tell him how he had to be strong for the rest of the family? Or talk about the things he'd have to do after she was gone? Henry couldn't bear it.

He quickly tried to distract her by pointing out the carved statue on the pillows beside her.

"Look what I made for you," he said.

Susan turned her head slowly, and Henry quickly regretted not getting the carving himself and holding it up to where she could see it.

"It's beautiful, honey," Susan whispered. "Thank you."

"I made it in shop class. Mr. Sean helped me. He told me that when he was younger he visited a tribe in the Amazon, and whenever someone got sick they would make..."

Henry's words trailed off. He wanted to keep talking, to tell any old stupid story that would prevent his mother from saying what she wanted to say. What she had to say. But Susan slipped her hand over Henry's, and she motioned for Connie and Richard to come over. And in her eyes, Henry could see that she knew he was just trying to stall.

"Has your father told you everything?" she asked.

Henry nodded reluctantly, while Connie just stared at the floor, trying to fight off her tears, and Richard buried his face in his small hands.

"Yes, Mom," Henry whispered in a slightly trembling voice.

"Then you know there's going to be some difficult times ahead. You're going to have to be strong for your brother and sister."

Henry nodded.

"How are we going to get along without you?" Connie asked, looking up at her, her voice audibly trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Sweetie...You're my children. You've all been strong since the day you were born. Use that now."

Susan took a deep breath.

"And don't worry. I'll always be with you. Always."

Henry looked up at her curiously. The effort to speak had made her tired already. He could feel her grip on his hand weakening. He placed his other hand on hers and held it.

"I know," he whispered through his tears. "You're not going to die, Mom, I promise you. I won't let you. You're not going to because I won't let you. I promise. It's my promise..."

He could tell that their mother was fading. The effort to talk had finally caught up with her. But for a brief moment, she looked back into each of their eyes, and he could have sworn she was agreeing with him. Her lips moved slightly, and it seemed she was repeating that word again.

_Always..._

She wasn't going to die. Not really.

He wouldn't let it happen. He _couldn't_ let it happen...

Then her eyes fell closed.

A sense of panic grabbed at Henry and Connie gasped.

But then they saw the slight rise and fall of her chest, and relaxed.

She was still breathing.

Henry heard the door open and footsteps coming up behind them. Wallace stared at his wife for a moment and then turned to his children.

"Has she been sleeping?" he asked.

"She was awake for a couple minutes," Henry replied.

"Did she say anything?"

Now Connie nodded in reply. Wallace waited for one of them to say more, but when everyone stayed quiet, he didn't press the issue. They all had to find a way of coping with what was about to come.

They stayed for another fifteen minutes, just sitting in silence, listening to the faint noise of Susan's breathing. As they stood to leave, Henry leaned in over his mother and parted her straight brown hair before giving her a final kiss on the forehead, as did Connie. Then Richard kissed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

They very well knew that this could be the last time they'd be able to do so.

* * *

_A/N: To help change things up a bit for this story, I will be using some plot elements and "spoken" text from Ian McEwan's draft of the film from July 1991._

_Disclaimer: I do not own TGS._

_And, the whole 'Biloxi, West Florida' thing is part of an AU I'm currently working on over at the AltHistory Wiki. It's called 'Alternity'. Check it out for a bit more background info on the world this takes place in._


	2. Chapter 2 - Family

**Chapter 2 - Family**

**December 2-5**

* * *

About nine hours later, around 4 a.m., Susan Carter Evans finally gave up the ghost she had become. Nurse Janet Larson was on duty that night, and had the phone number Dr. Callaghan had left at the station in the eventuality that this happened. She had gotten to know Susan very well in the time since the woman had checked herself in nearly three months ago.

Through Susan, Janet knew how important her family had been. That was why she now had slight reservations about calling them at this hour.

* * *

Wallace Evans sat hunched over the desk in his study, the darkness all but embracing him, the old, dimming lamp in the corner of the room notwithstanding. He knew it wasn't fair to treat his children any differently than he did himself. But Wallace also knew they would need the strength for the coming day.

His touchphone, sitting on the desk in front of him, suddenly flared to life. Wallace looked at the number: _207-555-8139_.

So this was it.

Wallace had known this was coming eventually, but knowing never made it easier. He let out a heavy sigh before answering.

"Wallace Evans."

"Mr. Evans, this is Nurse Larson at Rock Harbor General."

Wallace's mind spun. "Is she..."

"Yes, sir I'm afraid so. Not ten minutes ago."

"Thank you, nurse," Wallace said in a polite, but quavering voice before hanging up.

He leaned back into the desk chair, rubbing his eyes.

_The kids... _

Wallace stood from the chair, stalking out of the darkened study and up the stairs to Henry's room, dreading what he had to do next.

Richard was curled up asleep amidst a pile of blankets and pillows in the far corner, while Connie had taken the extra bed.

_I know they need to sleep, but they'd never forgive me if I didn't tell them... _

He slipped quietly through the door and turned on Henry's desk lamp, almost knocking over a stack of CDs in the process. Wallace hesitated for a second before sitting on the edge of Henry's bed and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Henry..." he said, gently shaking his son to rouse him.

Henry stirred under the covers and his eyes flickered open. For a few seconds he gazed blankly at Wallace, but then a look of dread dawned on the twelve year-old's face and he sat up.

"Dad...?!"

"Henry. I –"

Henry shook his head. "No. No, I promised her!"

Wallace suppressed the urge to sigh. "Son..."

"NO!" Henry cried, the tears spilling freely from his eyes.

Henry's cries had woken Connie and Richard, and soon the room was filled with the sobs of three agonized children. Wallace simply remained silent, choosing to let them mourn in their own way.

* * *

Over three-thousand miles and three time zones away, Jack Evans was jerked from his sleep by a loud blaring noise not three feet from his face. He looked at the clock – it was only 1:30, and his alarm wasn't supposed to go off until 6:00. It was the landline extension.

Jack grunted and reached for the phone. Then he saw the area code.

_207... Maine._

He answered.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice fell on his ears. "Jack. It's Wallace."

"Wallace. Is everything..." Jack paused and sat up abruptly. "Is it Susan?"

His brother hesitated, but only briefly. "Yes. She passed a half-hour ago."

Jack chose his words carefully.

"I'm so sorry, Wallace. We all know what Susan meant to you and the kids."

"It's – it's almost a relief to know she's not in pain anymore," Wallace said haltingly.

"How are the kids doing?"

Wallace hesitated again before replying. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Henry cried himself back to sleep. Same with Connie and Rich."

Silence pervaded the call for what seemed like an eternity before Jack spoke up.

"I'll fly out first thing tomorrow, Wallace."

"See you then, Jack."

"'Bye, Wallace."

As Jack dropped the phone back into its cradle, his wife, Janice, sat up in bed.

"Jack? Who was that?"

"Wallace."

Janice inhaled sharply. "Oh Lord, no. Susan?"

Jack nodded solemnly. He got out of bed and threw on his bathrobe and slippers before heading downstairs to his study. Janice followed partway but stopped in the hall just outside their bedroom and leaned against the wall, head in her hands.

A series of soft footfalls in the dark off to Janice's left briefly startled her, until she looked up and realized just who it was.

"What's going on? Is everything all right, Mom?" he asked sleepily.

Janice shook her head 'no'. She didn't want to tell him right now.

"Go back to bed, hon. You'll find out in the morning."

He just shrugged and retreated back into his darkened room. Janice sighed in relief. She'd half-expected some kind of smart-aleck comment from him about how it was technically morning already.

* * *

The next day, Jack flew into Falmouth and drove up, followed the day after by Susan's family, namely her parents from East Florida, her sister from North Carolina, and several of Henry, Connie, and Richard's cousins from Dakota. Since Susan's hospital stay began, and even before that, the once-respectable house – despite everyone's best efforts – had become an almighty shambles, with dirty clothes in all of the bedrooms, dishes piled up in the sink and slowly rotting leftovers in the refrigerator. Thankfully, someone called a cleaning service.

The day of the funeral, everyone told Henry and his siblings how sorry they were and what a great person their mother had been, and how they wanted the kids to come and visit them during summer vacation.

The funeral service was held in the old, white clapboard Methodist church the family attended once or twice a month. Then they all got into limousines and went out to the 'new' town cemetery, a large stretch of snow-covered ground, monuments, and headstones near the edge of the forest.

It was late morning, and the winter sun was actually rather comforting in a way. But Henry somehow still felt cold in his heavy coat, black suit jacket and slacks. The branches in the trees around them rustled in a light breeze, and a flock of geese soared high above. Out beyond the wrought-iron fence that ringed the cemetery, wisps of snow crawled along the ground or blew into small whirlwinds.

Henry felt his father's hand on his shoulder as he stared blankly at the open hole in the frozen ground and at the shiny, dark wooden casket beside it. A dozen or so yards away, two men in heavy green coveralls sat against a small backhoe and waited. One wore a red wool cap and smoked a cigarette. It seemed like a pretty ironic thing for someone who worked in a cemetery to do.

A priest wearing a heavy coat, black slacks, and a white collar opened a worn, leather-bound Bible and began to read: "I am the resurrection and the life, sayeth the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he was dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die..."

_Shall never die..._

Henry repeated the words in his mind.

_Shall never, ever die..._

He looked over at Connie and Richard. Their faces were red and puffy from crying at the service. Henry had had his time to cry, and now, he had to be strong for them. He had to take care of them. Just like he always had, but now more than ever.

Then he looked at the faces of his mother's relatives and all the family friends and was surprised to see that many of them were looking back at him and his siblings. As if somehow they were the center of attention and not their mother.

Henry knew it was only because they felt sorry for them.

* * *

The kitchen counters and table were covered in food. Their mother's family fussed and cut and poured for the crowd of people who had arrived in a surprisingly festive mood. It was somewhat perplexing for Henry, and especially Connie and Richard, none of whom had ever attended either a funeral or the after-service 'wake' before, to see the people who had been sobbing by their mother's graveside less than an hour before now talking, if not cheerfully, at least animatedly, in their living room.

It seemed as if half of Rock Harbor had shown up to pay their respects.

Even more perplexing, and equally as annoying, were all the people who wanted to hug, kiss, and rub each of them on the head and pat their shoulders and tell them how sorry they all were. Henry – though he couldn't speak for Connie or Richard – knew they meant well, but so many of them were people he hardly knew; and while he didn't want to be mean or rude, he wished they'd keep their hands to themselves.

Finally, after over a dozen people had said how wonderful their mother was, it got to be too much. He led Connie and Richard out the back door and onto the porch. He shut the door behind them, and the voices suddenly faded away, replaced by the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and some kids playing out in the driveway. Henry walked silently, with an arm around Connie's shoulders, and he lightly tousled Richard's hair.

New voices reached his ears.

"The opportunity won't wait forever, Wallace. I should know. For the sake of your company and your employees, you've got to go."

Henry held a hand up for his siblings to wait and he came around the corner of the porch. He was surprised to find his father and his Uncle Jack sitting in wicker chairs near the study window, talking. As soon as they saw him, the talking stopped.

"Hey, Henry, what are you doing out here?" his father asked solemnly.

"I just had to get outside for a while," Henry said. He figured it was best not to say he'd brought Connie and Richard out here, too.

"You all right, Henry?" Jack asked. He was a few years younger than Wallace and had medium-length brown hair that was lightly grayed near the temples.

"Yeah, I guess," Henry said. It was obvious that his uncle and father had been talking about something they didn't want him to know. "Uh, I'll catch you later," he said, and started back around the corner.

"You sure you're okay?" his father asked.

"Yeah, pretty sure," Henry replied with a shrug as he set off around the corner. That was one of the few half-truths he'd ever told.

Wallace Evans watched his son walk out of sight and, unsurprisingly, lead his little brother and sister down into the yard.

Then he turned back to his brother.

"I can't leave them at a time like this, Jack. They need me."

"We're not talking about an eternity, Wallace," Jack replied. "It'll be two weeks."

Wallace shook his head. "I just can't do it."

"It's not like you'd be leaving them with strangers. I'm your brother, Wallace. We're family."

"I guess that's why we only see each other at funerals," Wallace replied.

Jack winced, and Wallace immediately regretted his words. Three years earlier, Jack had lost his two-year-old son, Matthew. The boy had drowned in the bathtub at Jack's home in California.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Wallace quickly apologized. "I don't know why I said that. I know you're just trying to help."

"It's a bad time," Jack said. "Believe me, I understand."

"How is Janice?"

"You mean in terms of what happened?" Jack asked.

Wallace nodded.

Jack sighed. "She has good days and not-so-good days. It's something you never stop living with, something you never quite forget. You wake up in the middle of the night wondering if there was anything you could have done differently. I still don't have an answer."

"God, Jack," Wallace said, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can say just how sorry I am that that happened to you. If something like that happened to me, I don't know what the hell I'd do."

"Hey, something like that _has_ happened to you." Jack put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I've known you your whole life, Wallace. You've never had to face anything like this before. Believe me, this is the time when you have to let other people in. You've got to let us help you."

"I just feel that leaving Henry, Connie, and Rich now is the worst thing I could possibly do," Wallace said. "I mean, they just lost their mother. Now their father's going to disappear, too?"

"Henry's old enough to understand, and I'm sure he'll help out Connie and Rich," Jack said reassuringly. "Janice and I'll take care of them while you take care of business. You can't put it off any longer, Wallace. Your company's on the verge of going under."

"I'm not sure I really care," Wallace replied, his tone distant and almost lost in the wind.

"We've spent almost half our lives building these companies," Jack said. "Throwing yours away now won't make anything better."

Wallace stared over the porch rail, past the rocky shore beyond and out at the whitecap-covered bay. "I just wonder if it was all worth it. I mean, all the weekends I worked. All those late nights at the office. Maybe I should have taken a regular nine-to-five job and stayed home."

"Wallace." Jack put his hands on his brother's shoulders again. "Susan didn't get cancer because you worked hard. One has nothing to do with the other. You still care about your future, don't you? You care about Henry, Connie, and Richard's future."

"Of course I do," Wallace said, a hint of indignance in his voice.

"Then make sure they have one. You said that if you close this deal in Hong Kong, it could turn the company around. We both know how this works, Wallace. God knows how many times I've done it."

"Maybe," Wallace replied. "It's never a sure thing until they've signed on the bottom line."

"But it's the only chance to save your company," Jack urged him. "You've got to try it."

Wallace glanced back out into the yard, where Henry had started Richard and Connie on a rather lethargic game of tag. Could he leave them? Even for two weeks?

"Listen, it'll be good for them to be with other kids," Jack said as if he'd read his brother's mind. "I mean, you saw Henry a few minutes ago, and just look at the three of them right now. It's pretty obvious that they're lost around all these adults. If they come out to California they'll have Mark and Chloe to play with."

Wallace sighed heavily and gazed out at the bay again. His brother had made a number of good points. He hated like hell leaving the kids for two weeks, but if he tried to look past those two weeks, everything Jack said rang true. He glanced back at his brother.

"What does Janice say?"

"You know Janice," Jack said with a slight grin. "She told me not to come back to California without them."

Wallace blinked. Something about Jack taking his kids back with him on an airplane didn't feel right. "No," he said. "I'll bring them myself. The Chinese can wait an extra week. We need some time together."

"All right, then," Jack replied. "I'll tell Janice to expect you and the kids sometime next week."


	3. Chapter 3 - The Discussion

**Chapter 3 - The Discussion**

* * *

What leftovers there had been were now in the refrigerator. Everyone who didn't live there was gone. It was just Henry, his siblings, and their father. Wallace had distributed mugs of hot chocolate amongst them, after their time outside, but the cups were still largely full.

"How are you guys doing?" their father asked. He left the question open-ended.

Connie shrugged indifferently and blew into her mug to cool it off.

Richard stayed silent.

Henry was the only one to audibly respond. His voice was strained, exasperated. "For the third time this evening, Dad...We're all fine. Same as earlier."

"Okay," Wallace said with a nod. "Hungry?"

All three kids shook their heads. Even Richard wasn't hungry.

Wallace softly blew the steam away from his mug of coffee. "Look, there's something I have to talk to you guys about."

Their father's tone scared him, but Henry suddenly felt a dim light of recognition. "It's what you and Uncle Jack were talking about earlier."

Wallace nodded. "How'd you guys like to drive out to northern California with me?"

Richard's eyes widened, and Connie looked up from her mug, but Henry frowned.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I have to go to Hong Kong for a couple of weeks. Jack said he and Janice would like to have you stay with them."

He could tell that that had piqued Connie and Richard's interest, but Henry shook his head. "No way," he said firmly.

Wallace wasn't surprised at all. "I didn't think you'd be interested, Henry, but I'm afraid it's something we may have to do."

"I don't want to go," Henry said. "I want to stay here with you, Connie, and Rich... and Mom."

The furrows in Wallace's forehead wrinkled. It seemed like an odd thing to say, but he knew better than to challenge his son on it. "I have to go to Hong Kong, Henry. If I don't, the company's going to be in big trouble. And if that happens, we'll all be in big trouble, too."

"Then why can't we come to Hong Kong with you?" Henry asked.

"You can't," Wallace said. "First of all, it'd be prohibitively expensive to bring all three of you. Second, I'll be in meetings all the time. There'll be nothing for you guys to do all day."

"We could take walks," Henry offered.

"Or watch movies and TV in the hotel," Connie said. "And order in for food."

"No, believe me, you simply can't come," their father said. "Believe me, it's not that I don't want you guys to come. I'd love that. But you just can't. And if I didn't have to go, I wouldn't. You've got to believe me, Henry."

Henry just shrugged and nodded.

"Now, I guess I could make arrangements for you to stay with one of your friends around here," Wallace said. "And that would most likely be Dylan or Eli. But I think it would be better if you spent some time with your aunt and uncle. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of them from now on anyway. They've got a son named Mark who's around your age, Henry, and a daughter named Chloe who's a couple years older than you, Connie. They're your first cousins. You've seen pictures of them."

They had all seen the pictures. Not that you could tell much from pictures, but at least the kids didn't look like dorks or anything.

"Besides, none of you've ever been to California," Wallace said. "It'll be a good change of pace."

Henry looked over at his siblings, both of whom were warming to the idea, and then he stared across the table at his father. Normally he wouldn't say what was on his mind. But this wasn't normal. "I'm just worried that we'll be lonely without you."

"Don't worry," Wallace said with a slight smile. "After almost a week together in the car, you'll all be glad to get rid of me."

That elicited a giggle from Richard and a smile from Connie.

Henry merely nodded. At that moment, it was hard to know what felt right or wrong, or what he really wanted.

"Oh, and one other thing," Wallace said. "Make sure you each pack the warmest coat you've got. Even California can still get cold at this time of year."

* * *

**December 6**

The next night, the one before they were to hit the road, Wallace stayed on his phone for hours, making last-minute arrangements for his trip. Henry and Richard watched TV for a while and then went upstairs to Henry's room. Henry sat on his bed and looked around. His duffel and computer bags, as well as Richard's were packed and standing by the door.

Connie, on the other hand, had been out at a friend's house until a couple hours ago and was still packing her things.

_Thank God that cleaning service took care of laundry, too,_ Henry thought.

Henry looked at the portable CD player on his desk and thought about listening to something, but then another thought came to mind.

He was going away.

He had to say goodbye.

"I'll be back in a minute, Rich. Will you be all right by yourself?"

Richard nodded from his nest of pillows in the corner. "Yeah..." he mumbled.

Henry got up and left the room, walking down the half-carpeted hall until he got to the door of his parents' room. It might have been strange, but he hadn't been in there in months, not since his mom went into the hospital.

He pushed open the door. The lights weren't on, but the room wasn't that dark, either. The shades were up, and the moon outside was full, filling the room with a pale, white light. Henry slowly walked around to his mother's side of the bed. Just past it was the vanity table and mirror where she used to sit up in the morning, brushing her long brown hair. Her brush and blow-dryer were still there, along with some small glass jars of nail polish.

Henry felt a terrible pang in his heart. _It's as if she never left_, he thought.

As if she was still there.

Maybe she was. Maybe he hadn't let her die after all.

The pain in his heart was awful. It just wasn't fair that his mother was gone. He looked up at himself in the mirror. His eyes glistened with tears that threatened to tumble out and roll down his cheeks. He tried to blink them back.

_Maybe she's still here_, he told himself. _Maybe she hasn't left._

But where was she?

He sat on the bed and faced the closet. He was surprised to see the only thing that hung there: his mother's green, silk dress. The one she'd worn that day this past spring for the walk in the grove.

He still remembered it. How alive she was. How happy.

Lit by the flickering light overhead, the dress almost seemed to glow with a special aura.

Henry wiped the tears from his eyes and stared at it. Could it be? He began to talk aimlessly in a low voice.

"Guess what? Dad says that when we get out into the open country, he's gonna let me steer the van. And I'm only twelve. That'll be great. Do you know how far we're going? Three-thousand, five-hundred and eighty miles. It may be California, but it can still get cold out on the Pacific..." His voice trailed off, lowering to a whisper. "Just tell me...that you're here, Mom... Give me a sign, OK?"

No response was forthcoming. Only silence. And the sound of the waves outside.

"_Please_," he begged.

But the dress just hung there, unmoving.

"Henry?"

He whirled around, and for a split second thought that maybe it really was her.

But it was just Connie.


	4. Chapter 4 - Argument

**Chapter 4 - Argument**

**December 7**

* * *

The road was a ribbon of black, snaking through the snow-covered fields and forests of south-central Massachusetts at midday. Through the windshield, Wallace could see waves of cold air ripple off the asphalt.

They'd left only that morning and were already on the I-90 heading west, roughly fifty miles outside of Boston. The dashboard and floor had quickly become littered with maps, empty cups, and food wrappers. Wallace glanced in the rearview mirror at Connie and Richard, both of whom were sleeping, and then over at Henry, who was wide awake and staring blankly out the windshield, listening to music on his portable CD player, a pair of earbuds practically closing the boy off from the outside world.

Except for an occasional grunt of yes or no to a question about food or bodily functions, Henry hadn't said a word since the trip began. All he'd done was listen to his music. How he could even hear to answer Wallace's questions in the first place was beyond him.

They were coming into another area of tall, rolling hills. Typical for this area of the Northeast, but were they covered in snow, and besides, Wallace needed something to distract Henry.

Wallace gave Henry a tap on the shoulder. "Hey you, fellow passenger. If you ever get tired of blowing your eardrums out, you're missing some great stuff out the window."

If Henry had even heard him, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained blankly fixed on the road ahead. The only sound from his side of the car was the faint beats of music through the earbuds. Rock music, if Wallace's experiences in the '70s were anything to go by.

"Wow!" Wallace gasped. "I just saw a guy with a two-barrel chasing a talking rabbit!"

Henry glanced over at his father and worked up a faint smile, letting him know that the joke was appreciated. Then he resumed staring blankly at the road.

Wallace knew he wasn't making any progress. Chances were he wasn't going to make any, either, unless he forced the issue. He pulled the van off to the side of the road, kicking up a cloud of snow from the shoulder that drifted past them. Another car shot by, its passengers staring at them curiously.

Wallace put the van into park, shut it off, and turned to his oldest son. Even though Henry's eyes stayed glued to the ground in front of the van, Wallace could still see him tense in anticipation of a confrontation.

"Henry?"

Even now, Henry hardly moved a muscle. Even the fingers that had tapped lightly to the music were now stilled. His teeth were – almost painfully – clamped down on his lower lip.

"I'm know you're hurting, Henry," Wallace said. "But please don't shut me out like this."

Henry continued to ignore him. Despite his best attempts at remaining calm, rational, and understanding, Wallace could feel himself starting to lose it. Finally, he reached over, paused the music, and disconnected the earbuds before grabbing the CD player itself and dropping the thing into the side pocket on the door. It had taken great restraint on Wallace's part not to simply hurl it out into the road.

"Now talk to me," Wallace said.

"What?!" Henry snapped irritably as he pocketed the earbuds.

Wallace raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like Henry to be angry and defiant. There was obviously a lot on his mind.

"Getting angry won't help," Wallace said. "Especially since I'm not entirely sure what you're angry about. Is it me? Is it life? Is it Mom? I think about her all the time, too, you know."

Henry stared at his father for a long moment.

"I don't know why we have to go out to California," he said.

"I told you why," Wallace said. "I've got to go to Hong Kong. There's no one back home to take –"

"She's coming back," Henry interrupted, practically blurting it out.

"Henry..." his father's voice trailed off.

"Maybe she's not going to come back as herself," Henry said. "But she's gonna come back. She'll give us some kind of sign, then we'll know..."

Wallace could feel his sense of surprise turn into a sharp, agonizing pain. Maybe he'd overestimated his oldest child's ability to deal with this crisis. Maybe he'd been foolish to assume a boy of twelve could assimilate it.

"Listen, Henry," he said softly. "I miss her too. But we have to accept the fact that she's gone."

"No!" Henry shouted.

"Yes."

The next thing he knew, Henry had opened the van door and started to run off down the shoulder of the highway.

Wallace watched in amazement as his son took off down the side of the road. He stilled his first impulse, which was to jump out of the car and sprint after him. Instead, he blearily rubbed his eyes and contemplated his next move.

Henry just kept running. He didn't know why and he didn't know where. He felt like he had to get away.

Away from his father.

Away from what had happened to his mother.

Away from himself.

But then, just as suddenly as he'd started to run, he stopped. Who was he kidding? There was no place to go. He stood for a while with his back to the van and stared out over the guardrail. Just like his father had said, there were snow covered hills and trees everywhere. Not that Henry cared. Not that he was going to turn around and go back.

Maybe he'd just stand there forever.

But if he did, he'd probably freeze his own hide off in a few hours. _That_ wasn't even close to forever.

And what about Connie and Rich? He was their older brother, and they often relied on him even more than their own father. What would they do without him? He had virtually taken over most duties involving his siblings since their mother had entered the hospital back in October. He couldn't just leave his poor father to take on those duties all on his own.

Henry took in a deep breath of the cold air. He shivered as he exhaled, but not from the cold. It was just...the memories. And the knowledge that from now on, things would be different. Hopefully, for the better, too.

Using that thought as his motivation, Henry decided to just let things play out, and started back towards the van. He saw that his father had hardly moved at all, and was simply staring out into space. Wallace noticed him coming back and gave a slight smile. Henry was grateful that his father had decided to give him the space and time to think on his own.

As soon as Henry had pulled the door shut, Wallace began talking.

"You know, there's some people who just want to pull inside themselves, to hide from the world and let it all go. But if everyone did that, where would be all the fun in life? And then there are people like you, Henry. You just want to step out there in the wide open spaces and experience the beauty of the world. Your mother was like that. She loved going out in the middle of nowhere, pitching a tent, and eating burnt hotdogs and s'mores on sticks over a fire."

Henry chuckled a bit and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. That's just like her."

"I don't know if I've ever told you or your sibs this, but, a couple years after we were married – and a couple years before we had you – she talked me into hiking the Appalachian Trail. And in the fall no less."

"Really?" Henry's interest was clearly piqued.

Wallace nodded and smiled as he restarted the van. The near-silent electric engine of the V-2/E kicked in and low thrum ran through the floor. "You betcha. We started out at the south foot of Mount Katahdin in mid-October, and we just kept on going for nearly two weeks. Nearly made it down to New York, too. Your mother had her goals, like making sure we kept a consistent pace, or being careful with our rations. She loved being away from civilization, the silence, and, having to rely on her own strength. So much like you..."

"Do you think we could do that, sometime, Dad?" Henry asked. His voice was a bit excited and he sounded eager.

Wallace smiled as he pulled back onto the highway. "Maybe one day, Henry. One day."

His sense of adventure and interest clearly awakened from their long slumber, Henry eagerly plied his father for more stories about him and Susan, their earlier argument now forgotten. Connie and Richard both woke up some time later and eagerly joined in as well.

They all listened to Wallace in rapt fascination, smiling and laughing aloud for the first time in what felt like forever as the van sped onward toward the approaching night.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you like the changes so far._

_**Side Note**: The family van, a 'V-2/E', is an all-electric DeLorean minivan. In this universe, the DeLorean Motor Company never goes out of business and greatly expands its' vehicle inventory in the late 1980s. _


	5. Chapter 5 - Travels & Introductions

**Chapter 5 - Travels & Introductions**

**December 8-11**

* * *

Their journey took them through the remainder of Massachusetts and into New York, passing directly through a pre-dawn Albany, then on to eastern Erie, where they stopped for a time to view Niagara Falls and visit the AN Tower in Yorktown. From there, they passed into South Michigan, and in Detroit, they visited a car museum and admired its extensive and rare collection before crossing down into Ohio and heading west through northern Indiana.

They soon reached Illinois, for a stop just outside Chicago and a visit to the first McDonald's ever built. Then they crossed the Mississippi River and into Iowa, where the kids saw more cornfields than they ever thought existed. Nebraska was much of the same, and the dozens of oil derricks there didn't offer much in the way of scenery, though it was also where Wallace let Henry drive for a few minutes, on a largely empty stretch of the I-80 west of the state capital.

That was a moment Henry wouldn't soon forget.

Cheyenne was where they finally got their first view of the majestic, snow-capped Rocky Mountains, somewhere west of Fremont, and it was also where they stayed in a motel reminiscent of old Western movies.

Their biggest surprise yet was crossing Lake Bonneville in western Utah. The anchored floating bridge that spanned the lake amazed even Henry, and utterly fascinated Richard, while Connie was lost in gazing out over the azure waters that stretched to the northern and southern horizons. Northern Nevada was almost entirely a boring, mountainous desert. Reno was really the only thing worthy of mention, and that was giving the 'Vegas of Nevada' credit.

By the time they reached northern California, the sun had begun to rise over the Sierras to the east, and casted muted reddish-orange rays of light across the foggy landscape of the Central Valley.

It was a good trip for the family, and when they finally reached the California coast, Henry had long since dropped his defenses and allowed some of his long-dormant boyish enthusiasm to come out.

"Oh, wow!" he and his siblings all gasped the first time the deep-blue Pacific Ocean came into their view. It was such a sharp contrast to the steel-gray waters of the Atlantic and Scotia Bay back home.

They pulled into a small parking lot on the ocean side of the road. It was a windy and rather foggy day, and they grabbed their jackets. Once they got out of the car, despite their heavy coats, the kids were all shivering to varying degrees in no time.

"Okay, not so bad," Henry said as they stood at the guardrail by the side of the road. "But it's this fog..."

"I know. We may be further south than Maine, but the air's still pretty damp around here," Wallace said, pulling the collar of his jacket closed. "Maybe we'd better get back in the van. Especially so Connie and Rich don't catch cold."

But the kids all shook their heads.

"No, I want to see it." Henry stepped over the guardrail and walked a little way until he'd come to the edge of a low cliff. Below him the waves crashed against the base, throwing up clouds of spray.

"It's bigger than the Atlantic," Henry remarked, hugging himself and staring out at the ocean covered with whitecaps.

"I know," Wallace said, joining him. "It's hard to imagine something you can't see the end of. The Atlantic is one thing, but the Pacific is more than twice the size and almost twice as deep."

Henry already knew that, but he whistled in amazement nonetheless.

Connie pointed west from her and Richard's position back at the guardrail. "What if you had a boat and just kept going and going?" she asked.

"You'd hit East Asia – probably Japan – sooner or later," their father replied.

It wasn't much longer before the kids all got too chilled to stay outside. They got back in the van and Wallace talked about the value of wearing the proper clothing. He was more reminding them than anything else.

Their route followed the winding coastal highway, and they soon came up to and passed a large, green and white wooden sign welcoming them to Castel, California, Population: 10,200.

"Is this where Uncle Jack lives?" Henry asked, his curiosity growing.

"Yup," Wallace replied as they drove through the center of town. "Pretty place, huh?"

Henry and Connie both nodded in agreement. They'd never seen anything quite like it. The buildings were a mix of Spanish-style wood/brick and concrete, modern, and some post-WWII construction, many of which were painted a variety of colors, namely red, blue, yellow, dark green, and most commonly white. The big picture window of the hardware store featured rows of gardening implements and a riding mower, while an auto shop was having a special sale on four-wheel dirt bikes.

Then they passed several mission-style coastal hamlets. One even had a lighthouse attached. Off to the left of the road, a group of people holding large, handmade signs were walking down a sandy slope to an expansive beach far below, which was ringed on either side by relatively high cliffs.

"What's with all the people down on the beach?" Connie asked.

"And all the signs?" Richard added.

"Huh?" Wallace was caught off guard by their questions. "What kind of signs?"

Henry scratched the back of his head. "I saw 'em, too. They said something about the beach, I think."

"Oh, that..." Wallace said. "Your Uncle Jack's been keeping in touch about that, and you'll all get an earful from your Aunt Janice soon enough."

"About what all those people are doing down on the beach?" Connie asked.

Their father nodded.

* * *

It wasn't long before they had largely left the town behind. To their right, driveways wound down through the rocky hills to the road, but more often than not, it was virtually impossible to see the houses they led to. Finally, Wallace turned left, onto one marked _Private_. Same as their house.

"Uh, Dad, is Uncle Jack rich?" Henry asked.

"Let's just say he's done well," Wallace said with a wry smile.

"Is he in the same business as you?" Henry asked. "Computer software?"

"Sort of. Jack started up his company back in the seventies," Wallace said. "The difference is, he purely focuses on computers."

"And yours?"

"Mine deals more with trading stocks," Wallace explained. "You've heard me explain it before, Henry."

Henry nodded. He had, but most of it had long since slipped his mind. He merely agreed so their father wouldn't launch into a long-winded explanation that would leave Connie and Richard in the proverbial dust.

"So is Uncle Jack rich or not?" Connie asked, basically reiterating Henry's original question.

"Let's just put it this way," Wallace said. "Just like us, Jack's family is quite comfortable. They don't have many expensive things, but they could if they wanted to."

Fortunately, Wallace held off on saying, _That probably won't include us for much longer, though._

Connie nodded. "Okay..."

"I gotcha," Henry said.

The van rounded a slight curve in the drive and Jack's house came into view. Situated on a bluff overlooking the ocean, it was an ultramodern home, with huge, clear glass windows, and a black-and-white-painted concrete exterior mixed with rough, gray stones. There was a huge second story porch in back and a large, well-manicured lawn that backed up against the nearby woods, in addition to a well-maintained garden that surrounded much of the exterior. There was a single, gray-brick chimney that rose from the center of the house, and a thin wisp of smoke drifted from it, occasionally twisted into swirls by the wind.

Wallace finally stopped the van near the end of the driveway, behind an older, green Ford minivan and a gleaming, black Audi sedan, both of which were parked under a detached concrete and metal carport.

"I though you said they didn't have very many expensive things," Henry said, eyeing the four-door Audi.

Wallace shrugged. "So Jack got himself a new car since the last time I was out here."

They all got out and stretched.

"So, not bad, huh?" Wallace asked, gazing at the house.

The kids all nodded in agreement. There was something about the house that felt friendly. Even though it was pretty big, it wasn't too formal or foreboding. A few bikes lay in the front lawn – one red, one blue, and a smaller pink one – while there was also a backstop for baseball, a soccer net, and a tall basketball hoop by the edge of the driveway. Henry wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected, but he felt relieved all the same.

The front door swung open, and Jack came out wearing a gray sweatshirt, blue jeans and white sneakers. Following in his wake and clutching his hand was a young girl, who was probably seven or eight, and had dark blond hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She must be Chloe.

Jack was smiling and Chloe was laughing. Still, Connie and Richard both apparently felt a little shy and stood back and watched as their uncle and cousin came down to greet their father.

"Hey!" Jack said, extending a hand. "You made it."

"Oh, what a haul," Wallace said, shaking his brother's hand. "Fifteen states in four days."

"Fifteen?" Jack asked. "Went through Erie, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I thought it'd be more interesting for the kids. They hadn't seen Niagara Falls before, and they've never seen anything west of the Mississippi. At least as far as some of them remember," Wallace grinned down at his kids, and they all either shrugged or adopted confused looks, not having the slightest clue what their father had meant by that last part.

Chloe began to fidget and tug at Jack's hand.

"Okay, okay, you," Jack said with a laugh, and he kneeled beside his daughter. "Chloe, say hello to your Uncle Wallace."

"Hello, Uncle Wallace!" Chloe shouted.

Jack winced. "Thanks, hon. That was right in my ear."

"Hi, Chloe, how are you?" Henry's father asked, grinning.

"Okay." Now Chloe got shy and hid behind her father.

Wallace smiled at his brother. "She's beautiful, Jack."

"Thanks. Takes after her mother for sure," Jack replied as he got back up, grinning.

Henry stepped forward and held his hand out. "Uncle Jack. Long time, no see, huh?"

His voice had a sarcastic, playful lilt to it.

Jack laughed and shook his hand. "Henry. Yeah, it sure has." Then he gently nudged Chloe back out into the open. "Chloe, this is Henry. Henry, this is my little angel, Chloe."

"Hey, Chloe," Henry said in a friendly voice. "How are you?"

"Pretty good," Chloe replied in a mildly timid voice, cracking a small smile.

Connie and Richard soon came forward and, following their brother's example, introduced themselves to Jack and Chloe.

"How'd you guys like the trip?" Jack asked.

"It was pretty cool," Henry said. "The Rockies definitely put the Appalachians to shame."

"'Cept for the flat parts," Richard said.

Jack chuckled. "I'm afraid the Midwest doesn't really have much in the way of exciting terrain."

"It's real pretty around here, though," Connie added.

"Isn't it?" Jack asked. "The ocean and the shoreline. A lot of little coves and islands. Kind of reminds me of Maine, the warmer water and actual beaches aside."

Chloe was now tugging at Jack's arm rather impatiently.

"Hey, what..." he started to ask, but then he appeared to remember. "Oh, right. Okay."

He let Chloe go and she came toward Henry, took his hand and started to pull. "Mom said I could show you guys the house. Come on!"

Henry scowled at Jack.

"Don't try to resist, Henry," Jack said with a laugh. "She always gets her way."

Wallace smiled and nodded at Connie and Richard. "Well, go on. I'm certain she doesn't bite."

That got a laugh from Jack.

Connie led Richard by the hand toward where Chloe was already dragging Henry off, around the side of the house.

"Just watch out for the sprinklers!" Jack called out, grinning.

Wallace started toward the front door, but Jack reached for his brother's arm to stop him.

"How's he doing?" Jack asked.

"Henry?"

Jack nodded.

Wallace watched as Chloe pulled his son around the corner of the house, Connie and Richard following at their heels. "Okay, I guess. It's kind of hard to tell."

"He doesn't talk about it?" Jack guessed.

"Not much," Wallace replied. "We had an incident the first day on the road. Henry keeps insisting that Susan isn't gone. That she's still here. I can't quite get a handle on what he means. Like, does he think she's still physically here? Or spiritually? Or is he talking about her living on in our memories?"

"Think it's something serious?" Jack asked.

"I don't think so," Wallace said. "Probably just what a boy of his age does at a time like this. And, at the very least, I hope he doesn't spout off about it too much around Connie and Richard. Hearing something like that wouldn't be too good for them right now."

Jack nodded. The two brothers stood quietly in the damp, northern California air.

"And how are you doing?" Jack asked.

Wallace shrugged. "I'm best off when I'm feeling numb."

"You two had a good marriage," Jack said sadly. "It's times like this that probably make you wish you hadn't."

The mention of marriage reminded Wallace of something: "You sure Janice is up to this? I don't want the kids to be a burden."

Jack put on a forced smile. "Believe me, they won't be. It'll be good for Janice to have a distraction. Come on, let's go in and see her. She'll be happy to see you."

"Oh, the kids noticed something about what's going on down at the beach while we were driving in," Wallace said.

Jack sighed and groaned. "With any luck, maybe they'll forget it by the time they meet Janice. Even if _they_ don't, she brings it up at dinner almost every night, anyways."

He and Wallace started toward the house. Ahead, they could see that the first thing Chloe had chosen to show Henry, Connie, and Richard was the yard. "See how big it is?" she asked, running through the grass in huge, looping circles to demonstrate.

Henry jogged after her, while Connie and Richard had chosen to follow along at a more leisurely pace. Henry was surprised at how stiff his legs really were and how quickly he started puffing for air, but after over four days of largely sitting in a car, he shouldn't have been surprised. Finally, Chloe led them to the front door.

"Want to see my room first?" Chloe asked, in a voice filled with childish excitement. "It's upstairs. Nineteen steps."

She pushed open the front door and they stepped into the entryway, where Henry, Connie, and Richard got their first impression of the interior of the house. The walls were painted white and covered in wooden-framed pictures. The gray carpet in a nearby room contrasted with the dark, polished hardwood floors. Most of the furniture Henry could see looked almost brand new and just as modern as the house.

Before Chloe could pull Henry and his siblings upstairs, a voice called out, "Chloe? Are they here?"

An attractive woman of slightly above-average height with shoulder-length golden hair and large green eyes, wearing jeans and a plain, loose-fitting t-shirt, stepped out into the hallway. As she walked toward them, her eyes met Henry's and they stared at each other as if in a trance of sorts. Henry suddenly had the strangest feeling, that, as if for that very short span of time, there was no one else there except her. He felt goose bumps run down his arms. It felt as if, in some strange way, they immediately shared something. Or maybe it was the feeling that they somehow already knew each other very well.

Then Henry heard his father and Jack come up behind them and into the house, the heavy door closing in their wake. The spell was broken. Everyone gathered in the entryway together. The woman turned to Wallace and hugged him.

"Wallace," she said, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "It's been too long."

"Janice, you look great," Wallace said, returning the hug. But Janice was already looking back at Henry.

"Henry... I can't believe it's been ten years. Look at you," she said, gazing at the boy.

Jack gave Henry a playful nudge. "Better run," he said, grinning. "I think she's going to hug you."

"Try and stop me," Janice said with a smile.

Henry wasn't sure if Jack was joking or not about running. But the next thing he knew, Janice was reaching toward him. She took him in her arms. Henry had the strangest feeling when she did that. He didn't understand what it was, and it could have made him uncomfortable. But as if she sensed it, Janice didn't drag it out, either.

"And you two must be Connie and Richard," she said, bending down and giving Henry's younger siblings brief hugs as well.

"I half-forgot you'd never met them before, Janice," Wallace said.

"They're adorable, Wallace."

Wallace nodded in acceptance of her compliment.

Janice's next question was directed at Richard. "And just how old are you, Richard?"

Richard held up four fingers. "Four," he replied timidly.

"You remind me of someone at that age," Janice said playfully, looking back at Henry. There was a twinkle in her eyes.

Now Chloe pushed her way into the group and pulled at her mother's shirt sleeve insistently. "Mom, _please_, I have to show Henry and his sibs the house," she said, an air of importance in her voice.

She held out her hand to Henry again, but before he could go with her, Jack grabbed her.

"Whoa there," he said with a laugh as he tickled her. "Don't forget that Henry, Connie and Richard are members of the family now, too."

Still holding Chloe, Jack turned to Henry. "If anybody gives you guys trouble, especially this little monster, you come to me."

Jack and Chloe started to roughhouse a little. Henry just stood there beside Connie and Richard and watched. He noticed that their father and Janice had backed away from the group and were talking in hushed tones. It wasn't any stretch of the imagination to guess that they were talking about him and his mother.

"How are they taking it?" Janice asked softly.

"Pretty hard, I'm afraid," Wallace replied. "Well, he doesn't show it, but mainly Henry is."

"Did Jack tell you about Maggie Goldblum?"

"No."

"She's a therapist," Janice said.

Wallace began to scowl.

"But she's also a friend," Janice hastened to add. "We've known her for years. You'll like her."

"I'm going to meet her?" Wallace asked, puzzled.

"We've invited her over for dinner tonight," Janice explained.

It took Wallace a moment to sort it all out, but then he realized that it had been a subtle arrangement for Henry.

"You're not mad, are you?" asked Janice, sounding mildly concerned.

"No, I don't think so." Wallace chose his words carefully. "Let's see how things work out. But even if they don't, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you're doing."

Janice took his hand and squeezed it. "Susan would have done the same."

The atmosphere in the entryway was warm and friendly. Henry watched as Chloe roughhoused with her father, and Wallace spoke quietly with Janice. He was starting to think that maybe it would be okay here. He gave Connie and Richard each an affirming smile and a pat on the head.

"_Ahhh!_" Connie suddenly screamed and pointed up the stairs. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. In the hall upstairs, leering out over the wall-like banister, a dark, cold face of some kind of creature stared back at them. It was surrounded by what could have been heavy green and brown fur.

Connie and Richard squeezed in close to Henry. Richard whimpered in fear. Chloe, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly nonplussed about it and rolled her eyes.

For one long, stunned moment, nobody spoke. Jack was first to break the silence.

"Very funny. Now come on down here, Bushmaster."

_Bushmaster...?_

Then Henry realized that the so-called creature's face was only covered in a coat of black and green face paint, and that the 'fur' was a ghillie suit. The boy wearing it was also of virtually equal height to Henry, and probably the same age, too.

_He must be Mark_.

Still fully-clad in the ghillie suit, Mark Evans howled like a creature of the night (and looked the part of one) as he bounded down the carpeted stairs and proceeded to jump from the bottom landing, skipping the last five steps altogether. He landed with a loud _Thud!_ on the entryway floor. Suddenly pretending to have terrible limp, he staggered toward Henry, making strange, incoherent sounds.

_Sounds like he's watched too many cheap zombie movies_...

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw Janice's look of shock change to one of embarrassment and amusement. Connie and Richard still clung to Henry in fear.

"Okay, you. Hospitality," Jack said in a tolerant, if not mildly amused tone of voice.

Mark pulled down the hood of the ghillie suit and took off the ball cap he had been wearing. He smiled through the heavy face paint, as if he were pleased with the effect he'd had on everyone present. He had blue-green eyes, crew-cut brown hair, a face that was quick to smile, and a presence that seemed to radiate energy. Then he handed something to Henry.

Henry looked down and saw that it was a canister of specialized face paint.

"You put it on your face. Just like a football player," Mark said.

"Mark..." Janice said, nodding to her son. "Introductions."

The boy looked to his mother, confused for a split second, and then his face brightened again and he looked back to Henry. "Hi, I'm Mark."

Henry offered his hand and Mark took it in a firm grip. "Henry."

"You three attached, or something?" Mark asked.

"Huh?"

Mark nodded to Connie and Richard.

Henry laughed "No. They're my little sibs." He ushered Connie and Richard out into the open. "It's okay, guys. This is Mark," Henry said, smiling.

"Always glad to meet the family," Mark said.

"Why do you have fur?" Richard asked Mark in a timid voice.

"It's not fur," Mark replied. "It's something people use when they want to stay hidden in the outdoors."

And then without prompt, with Connie and Richard's wide gazes still locked on him, Mark strode over to Wallace and offered his hand, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Hi, Uncle Wallace."

Wallace took the boy's hand and shook it, taking in the full extent of his nephew's getup. "Mark. It's been a long time."

"Must be. I don't even remember the last one," Mark said, his eyes twinkling.

Janice rolled her eyes and Jack shook his head in amusement.

Henry then held up the can (or was it a bottle?) of paint that Mark had given him. "How does this stuff work?"

Mark walked back over, took the paint from him, removed the lid, and sprayed some onto his fingers. Then he reached toward Henry and quickly rubbed two rough, black lines onto his face, halfway between his nose and ears. Just like a football player. Henry looked around at everyone. They laughed in relieved amusement. He could hear his father chuckling and his siblings giggling, too.

Henry turned to face Mark again. Now with partially matching face paint, the boys shook hands again and clapped each other on the back in a show of friendship.

"Now we can be brothers," Mark said.

Janice smiled and ruffled Mark's hair.

"As if one wasn't enough," she said to Jack before turning to Wallace. "You may not believe this, but he's my darling, special boy," she said with a lighthearted chuckle.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you're liking it so far. And, at some point in the future, I may ask for some suggestions to help change up the plot a bit more. Specifics at a later time. Also, Cheyenne is this AU's name for Wyoming, and Fremont is our Cheyenne, the state capital._


	6. Chapter 6 - A New Family

**Chapter 6 - A New Family**

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Chloe insisted on completing the tour of the house with Henry, Connie, and Richard. Henry was certain he'd never been in such a modern house. Everything he could see was state-of-the-art in some form or another. They covered two floors and the second story porch (which turned out to be attached to Jack and Janice's bedroom), skipping the attic and the basement. Then Mark joined them and they walked down to the backyard, which ended in a stone wall near the edge of a set of low cliffs.

White gulls hung in the air above, letting out screeching cries that echoed through the air, while a cool sea mist drifted in from the water beyond. Fortunately, the fog had long-since burned away, though the sun was now behind a bank of gray clouds. Mark took the time in between throwing stones at the curling blue waves below to strike up some small talk with Henry, while Chloe went off to play with Connie and Richard.

"So, Henry... What's life like in Maine?"

Henry hesitated, but only for a brief second. "There's some vague similarities to what I've seen of California, so I've been able to draw a few parallels. The ocean, for one."

"But...?" Mark asked the question in an open-ended way.

"But, from what I can tell, Maine's got a lot more trees than California, and, it's generally...greener. Ever since Wyoming and Nevada, I've seen mostly desert."

Mark chuckled. "That's what you think? Just wait 'till we go up north. Around Lassen and Shasta, it's all forest. And you'd be surprised what you can find around here, too."

A cool, damp breeze blew past and Henry shivered slightly and rubbed his hands together.

"You all right, man?" asked Mark.

Henry shrugged indifferently. "I've been through far worse. Try the big nor'easter this past March."

"The one they called 'the Storm of the Century?'" Mark asked.

Henry nodded before continuing. "Dumped anywhere from six inches to four feet of snow all the way from Atlanta to Halifax, and thermometers dipped under zero. It wasn't terribly unusual for Maine, but then again, it _was_ mid-March, so, yeah... Like I said, this is nothing. Count yourself lucky, Mark. Compared to us, you live in the tropics."

Mark nodded.

At that moment, Chloe strode up to Henry, a concerned look in her eyes when she saw him rubbing his hands together.

"Are you cold, Henry?" she asked.

Henry looked down into his younger cousin's eyes, shook his head, and smiled at her concern for him. "Naw. In Maine, we're used to far colder than this."

Chloe nodded, understanding. "All the same, we should probably go back in now."

He wouldn't admit it aloud, but Henry wholeheartedly agreed with her, and he started following Chloe and his siblings back toward the house. But a moment later, when he turned around to see if Mark was following, Henry caught a split-second glimpse of some odd look in the boy's eyes. He couldn't quite place it.

Thankfully, they weren't outside much longer. When the kids got back to the house, they decided to cut through the kitchen, where Janice was starting to prepare that evening's dinner.

Mark's mother was just setting a pot of boiling water on the stove when she noticed that Henry was rubbing his hands together.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"Not now," Henry replied as he slipped out of his jacket. "If anything, being here for a couple weeks will probably soften me up. We're all used to pretty cold temps."

"In that case, your jackets might be a bit too much."

Henry shrugged and answered for his brother and sister. "These are the lightest jackets we've got." Having a light jacket or none at all verged on idiocy back in Maine, except in the summer months, that is.

"Then we'll have to let you use one of Mark's, won't we?" Janice said, glancing over at her son, now seated on a barstool across the counter from her.

Henry looked at Mark, and for just a second, he could have sworn he saw the coldest look pass over the boy's face. But just as quickly, it was gone, much like the one down on the beach.

"Hey, sure," Mark said, a warm and open smile. "We're brothers. What's mine is yours."

Henry smiled back and wondered about the look he thought he'd seen on Mark's face – twice now, too. Did it seem intensely dark and hateful?

Henry mentally shook it off. He'd probably just imagined it.

Janice then turned her attention to Connie and Richard. "We can probably find light jackets for you two," Janice said. "And, if it's all right with Chloe, maybe you can borrow one of hers, Connie."

"That's fine with me," Chloe said, shrugging. "I haven't worn most of them in years anyway."

"Thanks!" Connie exclaimed happily. She was glad to establish a friendly rapport with her cousin.

"That just leaves you, Richard. I think..." Janice trailed off, with a wistful look in her eyes.

"You okay, Aunt Janice?" Richard asked. His young voice was filled with worry.

Janice nodded and quickly regained her composure. "I'm fine, Richard. Thank you. I think I can find a light jacket for you somewhere, but if we can't you may have to use one of Mark's old ones."

Richard wrinkled his nose.

"Don't worry, Richard. It won't be that bad, will it, Mark?" Janice asked, turning back to face her son.

For the third time that he could count, Henry saw a cold look pass over Mark's face, but just like before, it was gone in a split second. But this time, Henry knew he hadn't imagined it. It was strange...

"No problem at all," Mark said, smiling at his mother and Richard. "I'll do anything I can for my little cuz."

Once it started to get dark outside, the kids all headed into the dining room for dinner. They stood by a big, polished dark wood table in the center of the room, with a large beige rug underfoot. The side of the room that faced the ocean was entirely encompassed by a huge floor-to-ceiling window draped on either side by heavy green curtains. On the opposite side of the room, several rows of portraits hung on the wall. The AC system hummed in the background, while a small fire crackled in the stone fireplace.

"Why do they look familiar?" Henry asked, gesturing to one of the portraits. He, Connie, Richard, Mark, and Chloe were the only ones in the room for the moment. Jack and Janice were in the kitchen, and Wallace was talking with a lady who'd just arrived.

"They're our dad's parents," Chloe said rather confidently.

"No, they're his grandparents," Mark corrected.

So that was who they were. Henry knew his grandparents pretty well and that photo wasn't them. Then he realized where he'd seen it before – in an album his father had shown him and Connie a few years ago.

Henry noticed, and not for the first time, that Mark often corrected his little sister and sometimes seemed very harsh towards her. Then at other times he seemed warm and caring. If he had had no siblings, Henry would have just figured that this was the way brothers and sisters were. But it wasn't. He'd never treat Connie like that.

"They built our old house," Chloe explained.

"Actually they had it built," Mark corrected her again, a tone of minor irritation in his voice. "It wasn't like they built it with their own hands."

Chloe glared at her brother.

"Know it all," she muttered under her breath.

"Okay, guys," Jack said as he came in carrying a big tray with a pork roast on it. "Time to sit."

Henry and his siblings all looked at the table with uncertainty.

"We sit at this end," Mark said, gesturing with his hand. "The adults sit at the other end."

Mark sat down at the far end of the table, while Henry sat catercorner from him, Richard sat beside Henry – in a booster seat – and Connie and Chloe sat across from Henry and Richard.

Now Wallace and the woman he'd been talking to entered from the kitchen. The woman looked older than Henry's father, and nearly as old as his grandparents. Henry figured she was somewhere in her late sixties. Her hair was a mixture of gray and white, and she wore a loose-fitting red dress along with gold wire-rim glasses and had a kind smile.

She vaguely reminded Henry of Miss Davenport from school.

"Kids, this is Maggie Goldblum," Wallace said as he sat down beside her. "She's an old friend of Jack and Janice's."

"Hi, Miss Goldblum," Henry said with a polite nod, as if he were greeting a new teacher. Connie echoed his sentiment, while Richard opted to shyly wave at her. From the way she and Wallace had been talking, Henry sensed that she was more than just a friend of his aunt and uncle's.

"Hello, Henry. Connie. Richard," Maggie said, nodding to each of them in turn. "Your father's told me a lot about you."

"All good stuff, I trust," Henry replied.

Maggie smiled warmly. "Oh, yes it was."

Henry smiled back. He had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time he or his siblings saw Maggie while they were in California.

"Okay, then, Mark. You know what to do," Jack said as he began to slice the roast.

"Sure, Dad," Mark said before backing out of his chair and leaving the room. He returned with a bottle of red wine and four champagne flutes. Then he placed one by each of the adults' places and filled the glasses about halfway. Henry and Richard both watched him as he did so. Suddenly, Mark caught their gaze and winked mischievously. Then he lifted the wine bottle to his lips and pretended to guzzle from it.

"Daddy, look!" Chloe squealed.

Jack looked up and smiled in amusement. "Okay, wise guy, very funny." He handed Mark a plate of food. "Pass this to Henry."

Janice came in from the kitchen and sat down. "Okay, everyone, dig in."

Wallace stared down at the thick slab of roast pork on his plate, surrounded by mashed potatoes and mixture of fresh vegetables. It was the first good home-cooked meal he'd had in five months.

"Something wrong, Wallace?" Janice asked, puzzled.

"No," Wallace said with a smile. "It looks... good enough to eat."

The adults and Mark laughed, but Henry wasn't entirely certain what was so funny.

"No offense, Henry," Wallace added hastily.

He gave his father a wry, understanding smile. "None taken."

Sometimes Henry had been forced to cook dinner on the nights they got tired of takeout, and when Wallace hadn't come back home yet. The best he could do was spaghetti, grilled cheese, mac & cheese, or even PB&J's, when it came right down to it. Connie and Richard had learned the hard way not to be picky eaters.

"Better load up then, Wallace," Jack advised his brother. "This'll be your last home-cooked meal for a while."

Because he was going to Hong Kong.

Henry straightened up and blinked furiously. He'd almost forgotten that soon he, Connie, and Richard would be there alone with Jack and his family. Not that it upset him particularly. Especially since Janice and Jack seemed so nice. Chloe was okay, although Henry knew he'd have to wait to see if she turned out to be one of those clingy, leech-type sisters who had to follow you around everywhere. Fortunately, Connie wasn't typically like that.

And that left Mark. So far he seemed okay, especially since he put out the whole 'brothers' thing. It had been fun talking with him and going down to the beach to throw rocks out into the water. But there was still something about Mark that struck Henry as a little strange. He could still remember those looks he'd seen on his face, first down by the beach while coming in, and then when Janice suggested that he and Richard borrow a couple of Mark's coats. Or like how he treated Chloe. And once or twice that afternoon, he'd looked at Mark and felt a strange, eerie sensation, as if something wasn't quite right.

As if something was missing...

Henry had shaken it off, telling himself he was probably imagining things. While still on the road, and while Connie and Richard were sleeping, he and his father had talked about what a stressful time it was, with his mother dying and Wallace having to go overseas. His father had cautioned him to take it easy and not take anything too seriously. _Sometimes in stressful situations_, he'd said, _your perceptions can be clouded or impaired_. Things might not always be as they seemed.

"It's a beautiful coast, really, it's almost magical," Janice was saying, and then she looked down to the kids' end of the table. "I'll take you and your siblings there sometime, Henry..."

A groan from Mark briefly interrupted her, but she ignored him and continued talking.

"But these development people, they look at Cannon Beach up in Oregon and Harbor Falls down here in California – eighty thousand visitors in the summer months, spending money left and right. They say, '_Why can't Castel have eighty-thousand people, too?' _Because apparently we don't have a big enough beach..."

"We got huge, two-hundred million year-old rocks instead!" Jack exclaimed.

"Do you know what they want to do? Blow it all up. Anywhere from forty to sixty tons of dynamite, Wallace. They're going to blast the beach..."

Now Henry could see what his father had meant earlier about getting an earful.

"It'll be great," Mark said. "They ought to dynamite the town, too."

Henry was a bit more nervous than he'd let on in front of Connie and Richard, and as a result, his ensuing laugh at Mark's sardonic joke was a bit louder than he meant it to be. A quick look from Wallace silenced him.

"Anyone who stands to make a dollar is all for it," Janice said. "But the rest of us who don't want the fast food and retail chains moving in around here are fighting largely for our sanity."

Maggie looked down the table at Henry. "You're all going to hear a lot about our beach issue," she said.

"It's so boring, Mom," Chloe whined.

Janice now noticed that Chloe was picking up the broccoli with her fingers. Even Richard was using his 'utensils', albeit with Henry's help.

"Use your fork, Chloe," Janice said.

"But my fingers get more," Chloe protested.

"Keep it up and they won't be getting any ice cream or pie after dinner, either," Janice replied.

Henry sliced himself a piece of pork and began to chew it before helping Richard with his food. He sort of liked the way Janice could be strict and make a little joke at the same time. He also liked her style and instinctively trusted her. She reminded Henry of his own mother in some ways, too.

He glanced again at Maggie Goldblum, wondering where she would fit in to all this.

_Thump!_ Suddenly Henry felt a sharp, throbbing pain in his left shin. It was the kind of pain he'd felt once when he ran into the edge of a heavy glass coffee table; or, to a lesser extent, from when he broke his right leg two years ago. He quietly lowered his fork and stared at Mark, who stared right back with an innocent, open look. Henry knew he might have looked innocent, but Mark was the only one sitting close enough to deliver a kick like that.

Well, he wasn't about to let him get away with it.

Keeping a casual face, Henry swung his left leg and connected with Mark's right shin. He thought Mark might at least grunt or even start a fight, but the kid just closed his eyes for a second as if he were letting the pain wash through him. Then, oddly enough, he smiled.

Henry was surprised at his cousin's reaction, but he smiled back nonetheless.

He felt as if he'd just passed a test. He'd proven he could withstand the pain.

They were now even. Even better, it was their secret.

Mark started to giggle. Henry watched him uncertainly, and then began to giggle as well. As the pain continued to diminish, it did seem a little funny. Here at this fancy table with these adults, they'd both delivered hard kicks to each other's shins and no one had even noticed!

Well, Connie and Richard had, but neither of them paid any heed and just kept on eating.

"There must be a lot of money behind this whole thing," Wallace said, his interest now somewhat piqued by the beach issue. "What do you think you can do about it?" he asked.

Janice eagerly delved further into her area of expertise. "We're organizing public meetings – the occasional rally down on the beach, for example, talking to friendly politicians, getting signatures through online and paper petitions, and coordinating lawyers, naturalists, and engineers who are giving their services for free. Half of the time when we're not working, we're out on this at night."

"You too, Jack?" Wallace asked.

Jack nodded and smiled wryly. "Yeah, I got dragged in, too. She's a real bully. Now I'm campaign secretary. Somehow, it seems as if I'm the only person between here and Washington State who can write a letter or an email."

"Hon, you're the only one who can spell everything right," Janice said with a laugh.

As the giggles from Mark and Henry began to grow louder, Maggie took notice and put her hand on Wallace's shoulder.

"I think they're going to be just fine here, Wallace," she said in a low voice.

Wallace nodded, a slight smile on his face. He'd been concerned how his sons and daughter would get along with Mark and Chloe, but it was becoming obvious that he had little to worry about. Henry and Mark seemed to be getting along very well. He had no doubt that everyone would settle in in their own way.

* * *

Once dinner was over and everyone had had their fill of ice cream and Janice's delicious apple crumb pie for dessert, they all made their way out to the living room and sat in a semi-circle on the chairs and sofas that faced the baby grand piano.

The living room was open and extremely spacious; a set of completely filled bookshelves was in the far corner by, what Henry presumed, were this house's very common floor-to-ceiling windows. There was also a large aquarium that made up part of one of the walls, filled with all kinds of tropical fish, and a half-dozen indoor plants scattered about the room. Richard had stared at the aquarium in rapt fascination for a time before Henry had refocused his attention on the matter at hand: Chloe's piano piece.

For her age, Chloe was quite adept, albeit with some gentle guiding from Janice, and not without a few mistakes here and there. The piece was something Henry had heard in school countless times, but he had never quite been able to put a name to it.

Once she had finished, Chloe curtseyed to the applause of everyone – everyone except her brother, that is. Mark was looking utterly bored.

Wallace glanced down at his watch and grimaced. Then he cast a look at Henry and spoke aloud.

"I'm afraid it's about that time," he said, largely directed at his own children.

Henry nodded, his mood now considerably subdued.

"You sure you can't stay any longer, Wallace?" Jack asked.

"Unfortunately not," Wallace replied, rising from his chair.

He and the kids then donned their coats and headed back outside to the van. It was growing dark and turning somewhat chilly, but the kids all felt warmed by the meal they'd had. They utterly hated the thought of their father leaving. Richard already looked a bit scared.

Henry then asked what they were all thinking. "You sure you have to go tonight? Can't you at least stay 'til morning?"

"My plane leaves San Francisco at eight a.m.," his father replied. "I've got to drive down to there tonight and stay in a hotel, time permitting. Believe me, Henry. I'd stay here if I could."

Henry nodded quietly. They reached the van, and their father opened the door. But instead of getting in, he crouched down until he met his children at eye level.

"You all understand why I have to go, don't you?" Wallace asked.

They just shrugged or nodded silently. Their faces were all somber as Wallace pulled them close.

"I'm leaving you guys now... so that I'll never have to leave you again," Wallace said. "I'll be gone two, maybe three weeks at most. Who knows, maybe less."

Richard buried his face in Wallace's coat, while Connie looked away and into the growing darkness. Henry knew that their father had to go to Hong Kong to save his business. They'd all known for the better part of a week. The thing was, when it came right down to it, none of them wanted their father to leave. Not now, not ever.

"You're all worried I'm going to leave and not come back," Wallace guessed. He'd seen the look their eyes. "You're worried you're going to be left with no one."

Connie nodded. "Like what if your plane crashes or something?" she asked.

"Planes don't crash very often," Wallace said. "There are literally thousands of flights every day, and that's just in the United States."

"But with our luck..." Henry couldn't help muttering.

"They say lightning never strikes the same place twice, Henry. I know it's hard, but we've got to start looking toward the future."

"Sure," Henry said halfheartedly.

"Something else bothering you?" Wallace asked.

"What's with the Maggie lady?"

Wallace nodded slowly as if he'd expected the question. "She's a psychologist."

Henry cocked his head and shrugged. "So?"

"So, with me being gone at such a critical time, Janice and I thought it might be a good idea if you and your sibs had someone you could talk to," Wallace explained. After meeting Maggie and speaking with her, Wallace had come around to Janice's way of thinking. Maggie impressed him as a caring and sympathetic person who would be a good ear for Henry. Maybe Connie and Richard, too.

"But I don't even know her," Henry said. "None of us do."

Wallace couldn't help smiling a little. "Sometimes that makes it easier."

It might have seemed that way to Wallace , but not to Henry. "Well, I can't speak for Connie and Rich, but I think I'd rather talk to you."

"That's not so easy," Wallace said. "The time difference. When it's day here, it's almost night there."

"Then I'll wait until you get back," Henry said firmly.

"Henry, please believe me, going to see Maggie won't be such a big deal."

But the thought shocked Henry.

"I actually have to go _see_ her?"

"Well, sure." It was becoming painfully obvious to Wallace that he had assumed too much about his eldest.

"Where? At her office?"

"She has the office in her house," Wallace said. "But it's not like going to the doctor. I mean, she's not going to give you a shot or anything."

"But I still have to talk to her," Henry said. Sure, it probably wouldn't be as bad as getting a shot, but it was darn close.

"You can do whatever you're comfortable doing," his father said. "If you want to go in there and just stare at her for forty-five minutes, do it. But it would make me feel better knowing that you were actually going to go."

Henry rolled his eyes.

"Hey, come on, you." Wallace forced a smile onto his face. "Cheer up. It's _winter break_. Except for Henry going to see Maggie, you guys don't have to do anything but play with Mark and Chloe and have a great time until I get back," he said encouragingly.

Henry knew that their father was only trying to make them feel better. It wouldn't do any good to make them feel worse. Besides, it was getting cold, and Richard was starting to shiver. That, and, Henry's hands were starting to feel cold. He'd always had poor circulation, and that was why he always wore gloves and thermal socks back in Maine whenever the temperate dipped below fifty degrees.

"Hey, listen," Wallace said. "You guys are going to be okay. You know how I know?"

They all shook their heads.

"I know because I believe in my children," Wallace said.

Henry and Connie nodded in reply and Richard shivered some more. Wallace saw that his youngest son was cold. He rubbed the material of Richard's jacket between his fingers.

"You okay, there, buddy?" he asked.

Richard nodded, but Wallace rubbed the boy's arms and shoulders anyway.

"It may not feel like it right now, but this is probably gonna be too warm for around here," he said.

"It's okay, Dad, really," Henry said. "Aunt Janice said we could all borrow some of Mark and Chloe's stuff."

Wallace sighed and felt a little disappointed in himself. "Guess I won't be winning any Father of the Year Awards, will I?"

Henry and Connie both hated to see their father get down on himself, as did Richard, to a lesser extent, simply because of his age. "It's not your fault, Dad," Connie reassured Wallace.

"You're trying your best," Henry said.

Wallace nodded, still not entirely certain as to the validity of that statement. Then he suddenly remembered something else. He reached into one of his inner jacket pockets and produced a gleaming new black and gray touchphone. "I got this a couple months ago, thought I'd give it to you for Christmas. But now..."

He handed the phone to Henry, and the touch display came alive with a burst of light. Connie and Richard pressed in closer and all three kids looked down at it in wonder for a split second before looking back up to their father. "Really?" Henry asked.

Wallace nodded again. "Well, it's a share phone for all three of you, but Henry's in charge of it. I've already programmed in my cell number and that of the hotel I'll be staying at. So if you guys need anything, just call."

Henry pocketed the phone. Then he threw his arms around his father's neck.

"I love you, Dad."

"That's right," Wallace said, hugging him back and fighting to keep the tears from his eyes. "Make it worse."

"I didn't mean to." Henry tightened his hug, not wanting to let go of his father. Not wanting him, Connie, or Richard to see how close to crying he was.

"We'll be together again real soon," Wallace whispered. "I'll be back before you all know it, I promise."

He slowly worked his way out of his son's embrace and repeated the process with Connie and Richard. Wallace then slid into the van and pulled the door closed behind him. He looked one last time at his children. Then Wallace started the engine and began coasting slowly down the driveway.

The kids watched the van roll away.

"Goodbye, Dad," they whispered as one.

They didn't begin to move until the red taillights had at last vanished from sight. Only then did they turn and look back at the house. The front door was open and framed in the warm, friendly light was Janice, waiting for them.

Henry trudged across the driveway, letting Connie and Richard go in ahead of him. They each shared a brief smile with Janice as she ushered them inside and shut the door against the wind.


	7. Chapter 7 - Mark

**Chapter 7 - Mark**

**December 12**

* * *

Henry watched TV with Connie, Richard, Mark and Chloe that night. Perhaps because she wanted them to feel comfortable, or because school was out until after New Years', Janice let them stay up late. Eventually, Mark got bored and invited Henry upstairs to his room, leaving Connie, Richard, and Chloe sprawled out on the sofas in the living room, watching cartoons, already half-asleep. Richard was totally out of it and sleeping on Connie's shoulder.

As Henry followed Mark up the stairs, all the while lugging his duffel and computer bags, he caught sight of a row of framed pictures on the wall. The first he recognized as his grandparents – his father and Jack's parents – Dan and Amy Evans, the second and third as slightly younger-looking photos of Jack and Janice, while the last two were of Mark and Chloe, also looking slightly younger. Beyond that, there were no more photographs, but Henry could see a nail in the wall, where a sixth might have hung.

"Hey Mark?" Henry asked.

"Yeah?"

"There used to be another picture here, or something?"

Mark stopped and jumped down a couple of steps to get a closer look. He squinted and then seemed to realize just what Henry was talking about. "Oh, that." Mark looked thoughtful. "That was a photo of my kid brother, Matthew. He drowned in the bathtub three years ago. Having it here reminded my parents, especially my mom, of him too much, and they took it down. It's probably collecting dust in the basement now."

Henry started. "My God. That's awful."

His cousin nodded and then continued up the stairs, Henry trudging along behind him. When they reached Mark's room, the light inside was off. But with a flick of the wrist, Mark threw the switch and a half-dozen wall-mounted lamps burst to life. Henry gaped as he walked in.

He'd never seen quite anything like it.

Tall, open wooden shelves that looked hand-crafted lined an entire wall and held all kinds of hunting equipment, from an old, well-used airsoft gun to a rack of specialized knives. Then there were smaller shelves, untidy and overflowing with books, some of them virtually new, and others yellowed by age. A pair of ghillie suits – one of them presumably Mark's – hung from the closet door, where there were also posters of a voodoo rite and a regional totem pole. But what really caught Henry's eye was a gleaming silver sword with a black hilt in a glass case, the curved, sharpened edge facing upward.

It took up an entire shelf on its own.

Mark saw what he was looking at. "It's a _katana_, a Japanese samurai sword. Well, samurai used to use 'em – as far back as the 12th century, too," he said before launching into an explanation. "Back in World War II, a lot of katana, old and new, were remounted or forged using non-traditional methods for mass use by the Japanese military. They still make them, but even these days there's restrictions. That's why they're so expensive."

"Really?" Henry asked. He was clearly intrigued. "How much?"

Mark shrugged. "Easily a couple thousand bucks."

Henry whistled. "How'd you get it?"

"My dad bought it on his business trip to Tokyo last year. Went to one of the best swordsmiths in Japan, he tells me."

Henry nodded and continued looking around the room. Along another wall was a workbench covered in tools, scraps of wood, and partially dismantled electronics, namely an old desktop computer/monitor set. Above the workbench hung an old crossbow and two more, newer airsoft guns, their barrels crossed. In another corner of the room was a fully-equipped computer desk, with a state-of-the-art sound system and a small, laptop-style PC.

Some of the more normal things Henry saw were movie posters – namely _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_, _The Hunt for Red October_, _Hogan's Heroes_, and _The Awakening_ – that filled the empty spaces on the wall. But if there was a singular theme to the room, it was combat.

"Wow."

"I know, right?" Mark said, beaming at Henry.

Henry finally dropped his bags on the floor. They had been getting heavy. "Top or bottom?" he asked. He hadn't noticed before: Mark had a bunk bed.

Mark plopped down on the bottom bunk and then patted the top one with his hand. "Have a seat."

Henry gratefully scrambled up the ladder and dropped onto the bed. That was when he again caught sight of Mark's computer. It was smaller than his for sure, but not a whole lot thinner. Mark also chose that moment to retrieve it from the desk and demonstrate it to Henry. He opened it, his fingers dancing deftly across the keys, clearly honed by years of practice.

_Okay_, Henry thought, _not too much different than mine, just smaller_.

But then Mark surprised him yet again by detaching the screen from the keyboard.

Henry's eyes bugged out of his head, while Mark grinned.

"A tabtop?" Henry asked as he dropped to the floor, incredulous.

Mark nodded and sat beside Henry on the bottom bunk. His index finger swiped across the screen, bringing up a highly customized desktop. Henry whistled, clearly impressed by the layout. Then Mark opened his MP3 playlist and began scrolling through it.

"Music. A ton of it, too. I've got several gigs-worth on here. But music's the least of what this baby can do."

Henry spied something familiar as the playlist scrolled by. Was that... No, it couldn't be.

He pointed. "_California Upstart_?"

Mark's face split into a huge grin. "You too?"

"Yeah, man," Henry replied, barely able to contain his excitement. "Which song's your favorite?"

"_Hydro_ all the way. You?"

"_Fallen Away_," Henry said. "I listened to all six songs for a while on the road back East."

"What'd you listen to 'em on?"

Henry rummaged around in his computer bag and subsequently produced his CD player. It seemed old compared to Mark's tabtop. Mark grinned and nodded in approval.

"Old style portable CD player. I like."

"Yeah," Henry said, "Trouble is it likes to skip with the tiniest scratch on one of the discs. Fortunately, this one hasn't yet. That and I'm glad permanent marker doesn't affect burned CDs."

"Who do you think _CU_'s guys are, anyway?" Mark asked as he went to put the computer back.

"Who knows?" Henry asked, shrugging. "For one thing, they're _definitely_ not our age."

Mark looked puzzled. "How can you tell?"

"For one thing, they'd sound all high-pitched and girly," Henry said, laughing.

Mark smiled and laughed, too.

At that moment, Janice poked her head in the door, smiling at the laughter. "I hate to quash your excitement, guys, but you should probably get ready for bed."

"Sure thing, Mom," Mark said.

Henry nodded to Janice.

Mark's mother smiled at them before leaving the room. "Goodnight, guys."

"'Night, Mom!" Mark called after her. Then he turned to Henry. "Feel like hitting the hay, cuz?"

Now that Henry thought about it, he really was tired.

He nodded in agreement.

* * *

Henry wasn't even certain he remembered the lights going out.

The next morning, he woke up in a strange room half-filled with morning sunlight. For a moment, he sat up and looked around, not at all sure where he was. Then it came to him: he was in Mark's room.

But where was Mark? Henry leaned out over the rail and looked around.

Oh, wait. There he was.

Mark was still asleep, sprawled across the bottom bunk, lying on his back, sheets and blankets twisted around him. Fortunately, he wasn't snoring, but he was breathing with his mouth wide open, drooling on his pillow. Henry suppressed an urge to laugh, and instead decided this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Touchphones did have cameras after all, atop their mildly pricy Internet connections, didn't they?

Henry quietly slipped down to the floor, retrieved his phone from the nearby nightstand, and unplugged it. He turned it on, thankful he'd decided on 'silent mode' last night, and activated the camera.

"Say cheese," Henry whispered.

The phone clicked and the camera lens flashed for a split second. Henry had it, and the photo would be priceless. Then he set the phone back down on the nightstand and leaned in over his cousin's bunk.

"You're dead..." Mark muttered groggily, his eyes flickering open.

Henry backed away and sat in the desk chair, grinning deviously. "Couldn't help myself," he said with a shrug.

Mark yawned and sat up. "What time is it?"

"About 6:45," Henry replied, taking a quick glance down at his phone. "Though I'm more used to getting up around 9:45."

"9:45?"

Henry just shrugged. "Maine. East Coast. You know."

Mark snorted. "That's gonna be your excuse for a lot of stuff the next couple weeks, isn't it?"

Henry shrugged yet again. "Why not?"

And that was when he caught a whiff of something delicious. "What's that?" Henry asked, sniffing the air.

"That..." Mark said as he slipped out of his bed, "Will be my Mom's pancakes. And with any luck, bacon, too."

Henry's face broke into a huge grin. "Sweet!"

He hadn't had a breakfast like that in a long time.

They both quickly changed into day clothes and breezed out of the room within five minutes. But just as they reached the top of the stairs, Henry saw something out of the corner of his eye that quickly grabbed his attention. He stopped and walked over to a door that was slightly ajar and peered inside. There, he saw a small child's bed, a bookcase filled with oversized picture books, and big plastic toys a toddler might play with. But what was so arresting about the room was how neat and untouched it was. Everything looked exactly how it should have been.

Then Henry remembered whose it was.

"Matthew."

Henry turned to see Mark, having suddenly appeared behind him.

"What?"

"It was Matthew's room," Mark said, almost nonchalantly.

"Why's everything still here?" Henry asked. "I thought they took the photo down because it reminded your parents of him too much. If that's the case, then..."

"Why do they still keep all his stuff out in his room?" Mark said, finishing the sentence. He shrugged. "No idea. Just one of those adult/parent things, I guess. Now c'mon, let's get downstairs before Chloe and your sibs eat all the pancakes."

Henry turned away from the room and followed Mark down the stairs, taking them two at a time, their footfalls thudding on the carpet. They both burst into the kitchen at full tilt, skidding to a halt just before running into the table.

"Slow down you two!" Janice said, smiling at them from her place at the table, a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. "The food's not going anywhere. Help yourselves."

Mark handed Henry a plate and began piling his with pancakes and bacon. Henry just stared at the food in wonder. Janice saw his expression and recognized it from Wallace's look at the roast during dinner last night.

"Haven't had a homemade breakfast in a while, have you, Henry?" she asked.

Henry nodded vigorously and quickly followed Mark's example.

"Well, get used to it," Janice said with a smile.

As Henry poured himself a glass of orange juice, he began looking for the syrup. But there wasn't any. Then Janice passed him an opaque glass jar with a handle on it. Henry's eyes grew wide. He recognized this.

"Vermont maple syrup?" he asked.

Janice nodded.

"Wow," Henry said. "I didn't think most people outside the Northeast used the real stuff."

"You're right. Most people don't. But your Uncle Jack grew up on it, and he got me into it after were married. That, and once I knew you, Connie, and Richard were coming out here, I bought some on my last trip to the store. I know how much your whole family likes it."

Henry poured it over his pancakes and took a bite. Just as good as he remembered.

"Well?" Janice asked eagerly.

"It's great. Thanks. I haven't tasted it in a long time."

Janice held her gaze on him, and even from across the table, Henry felt as if she was hovering. When adults did that, it bothered him sometimes, but he had to admit there was something a little soothing in knowing someone cared about him.

Then she got up, sat down beside him, and took his hand. She looked right into his eyes.

"Everything's going to be okay, Henry," she said in a comforting and soothing voice. "You'll see."

Instead of awkwardly looking away, Henry looked right back at Janice, right into her eyes. Just as they had the afternoon before, he felt an odd sense of kinship with her.

The clatter of a fork on a plate interrupted his thoughts, and he saw Mark rise from the table, wiping his face with a blue cloth napkin. "Hey, Henry, I've got something outside that I wanna show ya," Mark said.

Henry looked back at Janice, who smiled and nodded.

"So much for breakfast," she said with a wink at Henry. "I'll see you two at lunch."

"Thanks," Henry said. But just as he was about to leave, he turned back to Janice, a question practically written on his face. "You said I could borrow one of Mark's jackets, right?"

Janice nodded, sipping at her coffee. "There should be a dark green windbreaker on the far right of the coat rack by the front door. You can use that one."

"Thanks again."

He jogged out into the entryway and narrowly avoided getting trampled by Connie and Richard as they bounded down the stairs. "Whoa! Slow down, guys! There's still plenty of food for you. Have a good sleep?" he asked.

"Yup!" Richard said, eagerly bouncing on his feet.

Connie nodded.

"You think we're gonna have some fun here?" Henry asked.

"Sure do!" Richard exclaimed.

"Definitely," Connie said. "Chloe's really nice, and I love her room."

"That's great," Henry said, smiling broadly at them. "Now go on and eat some good breakfast for once. Don't let me stop you."

They eagerly ran off into the kitchen. Henry slipped on his boots and his borrowed jacket. He was halfway to the door before Janice called out his name. "Henry!"

"Aunt Janice?"

Janice strode out of the kitchen. "Please. I'm not too big on formality with kids your age, Henry. Just call me Janice."

"OK. You want something?" Henry asked.

"Oh, yes." Janice held something out to him and he took it. It was a slightly worn baseball glove. "Mark wanted me to make sure you had this before going outside."

"Thanks."

Janice stood in front of him and gave him a kind look. "Are you all right to share with Mark? You could always have your own room, if you want. Just say the word. But I did think it might be more fun for you guys to share the bunk bed."

"I'm fine," Henry said, shrugging.

"You know, it's bound to be a bit strange for all of you these first few days. Don't be afraid to complain. I'm always open to constructive criticism."

Henry nodded. "I'm okay."

"And... if there's anything special that any of you want to eat..."

Henry shrugged again. "As long as everything's as good as last night and this morning, I definitely won't have any problems. That goes for Connie and Rich, too."

"Well then, Mark's probably waiting for you. And watch out," Janice said playfully as she made her way back toward the kitchen. "He's got a wicked curveball."

Henry was soon out the front door and into the yard. The sun was poking through gaps in the clouds, a light breeze was blowing and the air was damp and cool. But where was Mark?

"Henry! Think fast!"

Suddenly something was sailing through the air towards him. Right at his face. Even with the reflexes of a minor athlete, Henry barely had time to put his hands up.

_Smack!_ A baseball slammed into the outstretched glove on his right hand. If Henry hadn't put it up when he did, the ball would've smashed into his face.

Henry gripped the ball in the glove and looked around for his cousin. His sense of surprise was quickly turning into one of anger.

Standing out in the middle of the yard was Mark, wearing a denim jacket over a maroon sweatshirt and jeans, with a backwards-facing ball cap on his head. He looked pleased with Henry. "Hey, there! Great catch!" he shouted, and then started to wave. "Come on, hit me!"

Henry promptly heaved the ball back at Mark with a burst of strength. It sailed hard and low.

"Ooof!" Mark gasped as he gathered it into his stomach with his bare hands. There was a split second where the boy grimaced, and while Henry waited to see if his cousin would get angry, but he seemed delighted and quickly waved Henry to go out for another catch.

Henry started to run. It was like the kick the night before. Like some kind of test where he had to prove himself. Mark threw the baseball. Henry caught it far more easily this time, and tossed it back. Once again, the anger quickly faded.

Tossing the ball back and forth, they made their way across the yard toward the nearby woods. As they entered a gap in the huge trees, Mark laid the baseball down on a nearby stump and waved for Henry to join him.

"I want to show you something," he said.

They started up a surprisingly well-cleared dirt path into the woods. It was swept clean of leaves, twigs, or anything else for that matter, almost like someone had vacuumed the ground. Henry jogged alongside Mark, feeling good that he'd proved himself capable with a baseball, and that Mark thought he was important enough to want to show him things.

"What is it?" Henry asked.

"You'll see."

They suddenly stopped at the base of an enormous tree. Henry had never seen one so wide at the base or so tall. It practically soared into the sky. California _did_ have some of the biggest trees in the country, after all, if not _the_ biggest. Hammered into the trunk in somewhat uneven rows were cut-down two-by-fours, intended to serve as a makeshift ladder of sorts until a climber could reach the first branches. Lying on the ground nearby was a small bundle of planks wrapped and tied in a canvas tarp, and a metal bucket, holding a saw, a hammer, and a whole lot of loose nails.

"You any good at climbing trees?" Mark asked.

"I'm OK," Henry said.

"Good." Mark pointed upward. "See up there?"

Henry looked. Through the branches he could see something in the upper reaches of the tree. It looked like a small platform. He had once toyed with the idea of his own treehouse in the old elm back home, but school, basketball, and his mother had put that on indefinite hold. But Mark had actually gone and done it.

He turned back to Mark, who was tying a length of cord around the bundle of planks. Then Mark slung the canvas wrapped planks over his shoulder, and tied off yet another length of rope around his waist so that they wouldn't slip. He finally grabbed the first steps and started to climb, the planks thudding against his back.

"I need some help up there," he said. "Can you get the hammer and nails and put them in your pockets?"

Henry pocketed the hammer and as many nails as he could and watched his cousin climb the makeshift ladder. Given a choice, he would have rather stayed on the ground. When Mark reached the lowest branches at roughly fifty feet, or a fourth of the way up, he briefly stopped and called back down, "Aren't you coming?"

Henry swallowed. It was another test. The last thing he wanted to do was to appear chicken. "Sure," he responded, careful to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

He stepped to the base of the tree, reached for one of the first two-by-fours and started to climb. Truth be told, he was nervous. Probably another good reason he'd shelved the idea of his own treehouse back home.

Henry soon reached the branches and kept on climbing. It wasn't as hard as he'd imagined. The branches were pretty evenly spaced, and where there wasn't one, Mark had hammered in another two-by-four to serve as a step.

Suddenly, he stopped and looked down, surprised at how high up he was. A stack of wood near the base of the tree looked hardly any bigger than Lincoln Logs. Above him, Mark had reached the platform and now lay on his stomach, looking over the edge back down at him.

A few minutes later, Henry finally reached the branches just below the platform. He grabbed a branch and planted his foot on another, slightly smaller one that looked sturdy enough to support him. He was just about to pull himself up onto the platform when a loud _crack!_ suddenly echoed through the air and the branch supporting his feet gave way.

_I'm falling!_

For one utterly terrifying second, Henry was certain he was going to die. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he threw up his hands to grab for something, anything. Just as suddenly, he felt two hands lock onto his wrists.

He stared up and found Mark above him, arms extended down over the edge of the platform, holding him.

His cousin was the only thing standing between Henry and certain death below. Henry's heart was beating so fast, he could feel it all over his body. Adrenaline and fear raced through him. He looked up into Mark's face, but the smile he was now used to seeing was gone. Mark gazed back at him with an empty, almost disinterested look.

Henry grunted with effort and kicked his feet wildly, trying to find another branch. Looking down for another foothold on which to gain purchase, he saw for the first time just how sickeningly high up in the air he was. Even the old elm back home couldn't hold a candle to this tree. In a flash, Henry's head snapped back up as he stared pleadingly into his cousin's eyes.

Then Mark's lips began to move. "I could always let you go. If I did, do you think you could fly?"

_What kind of a question was that?!_

"No one would know," Mark added.

He _had_ to be joking, but at the moment, Henry was so terrified he simply couldn't get an answer out of his throat, even if he'd wanted to. He was completely at his cousin's mercy. The idea that Mark would let go was inconceivable, yet, at the same time, so terrifying that Henry wanted to yell out.

Just then, Mark finally pulled him up after what seemed an eternity. Henry managed to get his hands on the edge of the platform, and though his legs were still swinging freely beneath him, as he pulled himself up, Henry could feel Mark grab his shoulders and help.

A moment later, he pulled Henry up onto the platform, and they both lay sprawled on their backs, gasping for breath. Henry's heart pounded, the blood rushing in his ears, his whole body nervous with adrenaline. He couldn't believe how close he'd come. He didn't know what to think about Mark just letting him hang there and asking that crazy question. Once again, it made him feel angry, but when he looked over to Mark, the boy gave that charming smile. Then he began to laugh and took a swipe at Henry's knee, as if it had all just been a big joke.

There was something infectious about that laugh, and soon Henry found himself laughing as well. He wasn't really sure it was all _that_ funny. Maybe it was simply the relief of knowing he was safe. Or maybe he was laughing because he wanted to be accepted.

"But I didn't, did I?" Mark said confidently.

After a few moments, he rolled onto his knees and began to unwrap the bundle of planks he'd carried up.

Henry rose to his feet and looked around. The view really was spectacular: the tops of trees surrounded them, and in the distance, he could see the tall white shape of a lighthouse, and a valley snaking through the rocky, tree-covered hills off to the east. When he turned to the west, Henry saw the ocean spread out before him, huge, blue, and endless.

Henry took in a deep breath, as if inhaling the fresh, clean, northern California air for the first time. It was very different from Maine. He really thought he could come to like it here.

"You still got that hammer and those nails?"

Henry turned around. "What?"

Mark waved him over. He was holding a plank against the trunk. Henry now saw that the reason Mark had carried the planks up was to expand the size of the platform.

"Is this going to be an observation platform?" Henry asked as he steadied a nail and hit it with the hammer, driving it into the trunk beneath.

"A treehouse," Mark replied.

That was what he'd figured, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"With walls?" Henry asked.

"Walls, windows, a second floor, a roof, and a door if I have enough wood," Mark said.

It seemed like quite an ambitious project to Henry. He might have doubted his cousin could actually do it, but he checked himself, remembering the workbench in Mark's room. It seemed as if Mark was quite capable of working with his hands.

It took another ten or fifteen minutes to finish hammering the planks Mark had carried up. They stood back to admire their work. It was a good start on the second floor.

They now sat down against the trunk to rest.

"You know," Mark said, "I'm kinda glad you showed up. Even though I have to share my room with you."

"I could always take one of the other rooms," Henry offered, remembering what Janice had said earlier.

"Mom thinks that you'd be lonely," Mark said.

Henry shook his head. "Nah, I've still got Connie and Rich. We always hang out together."

"Really?" Mark asked, his face a surprising mixture of jealousy and disinterest.

Henry nodded. "Yeah."

"Look, I don't care that you're in my room. Just don't meddle with my stuff unless I give the say so."

He got a raised eyebrow from Henry.

Mark continued. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you're here. Some things are a lot more fun when there's two people around instead of just one."

"Yeah? Like what?" Henry asked.

Mark lowered his voice, but ever so slightly. "There's something I need your help with. Something amazing – truly amazing. But it's a secret."

"You can trust me," Henry said, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

"It's not ready yet, though. Maybe in another couple of days."

Mark then got up and unwound a crank bolted to a heavy branch above, unspooling a length of rope out over the side of the platform until it dangled just above the dirt below. Then he locked the crank into position and climbed onto the rope, where he abruptly paused.

"There is another thing. Do you like explosions?" Mark asked.

Henry nodded, thinking back to the countless movies and TV shows he'd seen with some form of explosion or another in them.

"Yeah. They're great."

Mark gave him a nod of approval. "Good." Then he began sliding down the rope.

Henry waited a second and followed him. Fortunately, it was a clear drop to the ground.

When he got there, Henry saw that Chloe had arrived. Mark had started chasing his sister and was shouting at her.

"Chloe, drop that! Drop that right now! I mean it!"

"But I'm not hurting it!" Chloe yelled back at him, clutching the baseball in her hands.

Henry started to follow them, and then he noticed the branch that had broken under his weight and almost cost him his life not twenty minutes ago. He picked it up and looked it over. Oddly enough, it appeared that part of it had been cut through cleanly, as if with a saw. No wonder it had snapped so quickly. Henry heard another shout and looked up, tossing the branch – and the thought – aside. Mark had caught up with Chloe and was holding her tightly as he pried the baseball out of her hands.

"I don't care _what_ you're doing!" he shouted angrily. "I gave you a simple rule to obey, okay? If I've told you once, I've told you another thousand times: You never, ever, _EVER_ touch any of my things. Whatever it is, if it's mine, you don't even think of touching it. Get it now?"

The ball fell from Chloe's hands and rolled into the grass, but Mark continued to clamp down on her wrists and wouldn't let go.

"I just hope that's not too difficult for someone like you to understand," he said in a sarcastic and condescending tone.

"Stop!" she cried out. "You're hurting me. Let go! Mom! _MOM!_"

Mark finally let go, and Chloe ran off toward the house, tears streaming from her face. Her brother picked the baseball back up and began impatiently tossing it into the air.

Henry watched on as he strode slowly toward his older cousin, somewhat shocked by what he'd just seen. Mark had seemed a bit cruel toward his little sister. Apparently, he was _very_ possessive when it came to his things.

Not ten minutes later, that was all forgotten. Now the two boys were deep into the woods, in a large clearing, and emptying plastic garbage bags of dead leaves onto the ground, creating a pile that was taller than either of them. Once they were done, Mark got on all fours and adjusted something at the base of the pile. Then he leapt to his feet.

"OK! That's got it. Run!"

They both dashed away and moved behind the cover of a tree. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing.

And then a miniature thunderclap echoed through the woods, and the pile of leaves erupted in a flash of smoke, spewing them high into the air.

"Yeah!" Mark let out a whoop and led Henry back into the clearing, where the leaves were raining down like snow. They both laughed and leapt through the storm of leaves. It was an oddly triumphant and exhilarating moment, even to Henry. He'd never done anything like this back home. He'd never done anything like this, period.

* * *

For lunch, Janice had made grilled cheese, both plain and optionally with bacon. Henry chose one of each, as did Mark. There was also tomato soup to dip them in. Henry knew he was _definitely_ going to enjoy the food while he was here. Hopefully Connie and Richard would, too. His own cooking had left a lot to be desired.

He was pretty certain that Chloe had told her mother about what Mark had done earlier, but if Janice was angry about it, she didn't let it show at all.

Once lunch was over, Mark wanted to go back outside again, this time to head into town.

Just as they were heading down the walk, Janice came out onto the tiny front stoop. She was buttoning up an overcoat and had an underlying tone of eagerness to her voice. "Where are you boys off to now?" she asked.

"Just out, okay?" Mark said curtly. His tone was cold.

"Want to walk down to the point with me? The one by the beach. We could show Henry..."

Mark cut her off. "We're busy. C'mon, Henry."

He started toward the driveway and turned briefly, waving to his cousin. "C'mon!"

Embarrassed to be so blithely dismissing Janice, but not wanting to reject what Mark now had in mind, Henry held an awkward gaze on his aunt for a few seconds longer – catching her disappointed look in the process – and turned to follow Mark toward the main road.

* * *

_A/N: Films in this universe are more frequently based on novels (and stick far closer to their original plotlines). 'The Hunt for Red October' for instance, has a film based on it made in 1988 instead of 1990, and it is far more accurate to the novel. 'Hogan's Heroes' would be a 1990 action film based on the TV series, and 'The Awakening' is this universe's version of 'The Shining', but was written by a completely different, fictional author, and was published in the late '80s, with a film made after it in 1992._

_'California Upstart' is a fictional precursor to Linkin Park, with a largely cult following._

_Touchphones are basically iPhone-style smartphones, but exist as early as the late '80s, as do laptop-tablet hybrids (what I've nicknamed tabtops), thanks to a leap in technology that started in the early 1900s, due in large part to Nikola Tesla. _


	8. Chapter 8 - Q&A, Show And Tell

**Chapter 8 - Q&A/Show And Tell**

* * *

Roughly half an hour later, they reached the outskirts of town and began walking along the main drag toward the waterfront.

They soon passed an array of shops, and one of the owners that was out sweeping the sidewalk waved upon recognizing Mark, who promptly returned the gesture. Then they came across Maggie Goldblum, who was carrying a brown paper grocery bag under one arm.

"Morning, boys," Maggie said briskly.

"Morning, Miss Goldblum," Mark and Henry chorused.

"Having fun this fine day?" Maggie asked. "Making mischief?"

Mark nodded vigorously and he grinned impishly. "Yep."

Maggie chuckled. "You sure as hell can't have one without the other. Now, Henry, when are coming to see me? You busy at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon?"

Henry shook his head. "No, ma'am," he replied.

"That's settled, then," Maggie said, and she kept walking in the opposite direction. "Don't be late, and don't you go and bring that buzz-headed, brown-haired scallywag with you."

Mark rolled his eyes at that and they continued on.

No sooner had Maggie passed them by than an elderly seaman, dressed in khaki slacks, a red windbreaker and a blue cap pulled down over whitish-gray hair came strolling toward the boys. He also had a scruffy brown terrier walking ahead of him on a leash.

"Hello there, Mark!" the man called out. He stopped in front of the boys and the dog sat obediently at his heels. "Is this one of the young'uns that's staying with you?" he asked.

"Morning, Captain Lawson," Mark said, and promptly laid a hand on Henry's shoulder. "That he is. His name's Henry Evans."

Henry shook Captain Lawson's hand with a firm grip.

"You're to be congratulated, my friend," Captain Lawson said to Henry. "We have a fine community, and this here's a very special young man. Everyone will tell you that. You've chosen well."

Henry quickly bent down to pet Lawson's terrier. "Thank you, sir."

"Comet here seems to like you," the captain said. "And he doesn't normally trust strangers."

"Well, I guess I'm just the trusting type," Henry said with a grin.

"I best be going. Good day, boys."

And with that, Lawson and his dog went their way.

Mark now visibly grimaced at Lawson's praise for him, while Henry barely suppressed a laugh. It instead came out as more of a guttural snigger.

As they continued on their way, every now and again, one of them would stoop down and retrieve various pieces of junk from the ground. Such pick-ups ranged from a broken cellphone to rusted screws and bolts, and everything went into a burlap drawstring bag Mark was carrying.

The expansive local boatyards were just starting to come into view. The sight was fairly similar to the boatyards back in Rock Harbor: assorted weather-beaten fishing boats with nets, coils of rope, and traps piled on their decks, and even a couple of small dry docks. There were currently some men at work unloading boxes from a trawler and carrying them into an enclosed boatshed.

"Did you see your mom when she was dead?" Mark suddenly asked.

The question was a little personal and somewhat painful, but Henry somehow felt compelled to answer. "I wanted to, but no one would let me."

"I would have made them let me," Mark said. "It's very important."

"Who says?" Henry asked.

"Nobody actually talks about death. That's why you have to investigate it. It's scientific."

The talk of death and his mother made Henry feel very uncomfortable.

"It doesn't feel like that to me," he said, hoping Mark would just drop the subject. Henry didn't like talking about his mother as dead. He didn't like _thinking_ of his mother as dead.

"What did she look like last time you saw her?" Mark asked.

Henry winced visibly and looked into his cousin's eyes as they walked along. Mark looked right back with almost no expression on his face. He wasn't grinning or leering or anything. It just seemed like he was curious. Still, Henry wished he wouldn't talk about it.

"Kind of pale," Henry said reluctantly.

"_Kind_ of pale?!" Mark exclaimed. He sounded surprised. "When Little Matty drowned in the bathtub, I took a real good look."

Henry felt his eyes widen in surprise. "What?!"

"He was completely blue," Mark said. "You should have looked at your mother's eyes and lips and touched her skin to see what it felt like. You know, hot... cold... dry, or whatever."

Her eyes? Her lips? Her skin?

Without warning, and without wanting to in the least, Henry pictured it for a second.

His mother dead.

Her open, glassy eyes.

Her pale, bloodless lips.

No, it was awful, too awful. He hurriedly shoved the thought clear out of his head, furious that Mark would talk of such things.

"Your mom will die one day, too, and then you can get out your tape measure," he snapped angrily. "Leave my mother out of it!"

"Hey, don't get all mad," Mark said, feigning innocence. "I was just being scientific."

Henry glared at him. "Then talk about something else," he growled.

They had stopped not ten feet from the men unloading the trawler, who were now glancing curiously in their direction.

"And if I don't?" Mark dared.

He wouldn't back down.

Henry continued to glare at him. This simply wasn't open for discussion. His mother was off-limits, and wanted to make sure Mark knew that, too.

"If you get all 'scientific' about my mother again, I'll deck you," Henry threatened.

Mark stared back at him, unwavering. "I'm pretty strong, brother. Just you try it," he said.

Several of the dockworkers had stopped what they were doing and watched with interest as the boys squared off against each other.

Henry's emotions were now a swirling rage inside him. "We'll see about that," he told Mark.

They circled each other, fists raised, and preparing for a fight. They exchanged cold, silent glares that would have stopped anyone else in their tracks.

When Henry looked into Mark's eyes, there was something just so still and empty about them.

Then Mark suddenly dropped his fists and smiled sheepishly, turning on the charm.

"Hey, look. I'm sorry. That was real stupid of me," he said. "I'm _real_ sorry, Henry. I won't talk that way again, okay?"

Henry gave him a wary look.

"I really am sorry," Mark said emphatically. "Will you forgive me?"

Henry watched as Mark extended his hand. Once again he felt his anger drain away. When Mark smiled and acted friendly like that, it was almost impossible not to like him. Henry unclenched his fists and offered a hand to his cousin.

They shook.

That earned a few boos and jeers from the workers, as if they had been expecting a real fight.

"G'wan, Mark! Hit him!" one of them called out.

That merely served to cement the boys' reconciliation and they both waved dismissively and went back along the pier.

Suddenly Mark darted forward and stooped to the ground. "Look! Here's two more."

He dropped another two rusty bolts into his bag and pulled the drawstring closed.

"That should do it. Let's go!"

As they made their way back along the side of the road and toward home, Henry caught sight of Janice standing on a promontory near the beach that jutted out over the ocean, her hair blowing in the wind. He stopped.

"Isn't that your mom?" Henry asked.

Mark stopped, too. "Yeah, she's always down here. She's really nuts about the place. Really boring, if you ask me. Come on, we've got some work to do."

Henry cast a final glance at Janice, who was staring blankly out at the ocean, apparently lost in her thoughts.

* * *

Henry wondered where Mark was going. They had gone back into the woods by the house, but now they were even farther than the clearing where they'd blown up the pile of leaves earlier.

The trees here grew even closer together, and the ground was littered with thick layers of dead, brittle leaves, pine needles, and cones that crunched underfoot with every other step.

Now he was beginning to wonder if Mark even _knew_ where they were going.

Henry barely had time to duck out of the way of a low-hanging pine branch that swiped through his hair, where, a split second earlier, his face had been.

"Whoa!"

"You all right back there?" Mark asked.

"Sure..." Henry replied as he brushed some pine needles from his hair and continued following his cousin deeper into the woods.

A couple minutes later, Mark finally stopped in a small, enclosed clearing and took a deep breath that sounded distinctly like a sigh.

"Do you actually know where you're going?" Henry asked, staring at Mark.

Mark gave him a grin and started toward the other side of the clearing. "You'll see," he said.

Henry sighed inwardly. Mark and his secrets...

Mark suddenly stooped and seemed to lift a section of the ground aside, scattering another pile-worth of leaves. Henry's eyes went wide.

His cousin had just exposed a narrow flight of worn and chipped concrete steps that led below ground level and down to a rusted set of double doors chained together with a padlock.

_What the...?_

Grinning like a fiend, Mark started down the steps and motioned for Henry to follow. Then he produced a key, undid the padlock, and removed the chains with a loud, metallic rattle. Mark shoved open the doors with both hands, exposing a dark room beyond. A slightly musty smell reached Henry's nose on a draft of cool air.

A loud click sounded from behind him as Mark flipped a breaker switch and a string of bare light bulbs along the ceiling suddenly flickered to life. A low hum now filled the air as Henry gazed around the room and recognized what this was: an old bunker, probably World War II vintage, judging by the wear and tear on the concrete. On one wall was the California state flag, and on the other, the Stars and Stripes. Both looked surprisingly new.

Canvas tarps lay draped across old folding tables, their contents a mystery to all but Mark, who was now standing beside a square table in the middle of the room.

"You like?" Mark asked.

Henry nodded.

"Found it a few years back when I was taking a walk through here. Darn near broke my ankles, too. Far as I can tell, it was some kind of ammo storage bunker for a nearby artillery battery in World War II. Any munitions are long gone, but it makes a good private workshop. Close the doors and we'll get started."

A tiny bit of apprehension nagged at him, but his eagerness to find out what Mark had planned was his driving force at the moment. Henry swung the doors shut behind him and wandered over to the table where Mark was standing.

Mark whipped the tarp away, revealing what lay beneath.

"Ta-dah!" he said, taking a slight bow.

"What is it?" Henry asked. He had never seen anything like it before.

"A pet project," Mark replied.

"You know what I mean," Henry retorted.

Mark grinned and launched into a detailed explanation. "It's kinda like a catapult. I got the base from an old stove, and it has all these holes that make things easier to mount. Then these two springs are off a big door. You can't even pull them back with your hands 'cause they're too powerful. You have to use this."

Mark briefly held up a chrome ratchet before continuing.

"It takes a minute to wind them full out. I managed to get one of the guys down at the harbor to weld the springs onto the end of this block. The pin back here is the release mechanism – basically, the trigger. When you pull the pin, it releases the block, which then runs down this groove that I've oiled up."

Then he laid his hand on a long metal tube atop the contraption. "And this is the sight. Now, let's try one of those bolts..."

Henry retrieved the bag from the floor and fished around inside it. His hand emerged with several of the rusted bolts. He held up one that looked promising, but Mark shook his head. "That one's too big," he said.

Henry held up another.

Now Mark nodded in approval. "That's good... and that other one, too. Now for the big test."

He hefted the device in one move and started toward the doors, with Henry carrying the bolts and the ratchet.

"Let's shoot it out into the water. Try and hit a rock or something," Henry suggested as they made their way out of the bunker and back above ground.

"Are you kidding?!" Mark exclaimed. "What a waste! We need a good target."

Mark walked along slowly, lugging the heavy contraption all the way through the woods and until they came to the edge of the road, which was lined by a low stone wall. They then walked about a hundred yards further before finally stopping.

Mark set the device down on the wall, sighing in relief.

"Okay, here," he said.

Moments later, they were crouched behind the wall as Mark lined up the machine.

"Incredible, huh?" he asked. "It took me a long time to find all the parts."

"You mean you made this yourself?" Henry asked incredulously.

"You better believe it, man," Mark replied.

"How?" Henry asked.

"What do you mean, how?" his cousin asked quizzically.

"Like, did you follow instructions from a manual or the Internet or something?"

Mark grinned. "Yeah, but they came from up here." He tapped his head.

It was difficult for Henry to believe that anyone his age could build such a thing out of nothing but spare parts. But he had, nonetheless, and not only that, it appeared to be something original, too.

"You still got that ratchet?" Mark asked, holding out his hand.

"Yeah. Here." Henry pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to him.

Mark attached the ratchet to a spot on the side of the device and began to work it back and forth.

The ratchet made a clicking sound as Mark worked it back and forth. The catapult part slowly pulled back as the springs stretched and creaked.

"Now, when they're all the way back, you can load the bolts here" Mark said.

Henry slid one into the groove. So _that_ was why they'd collected them.

Mark adjusted the contraption, and Henry realized he was aiming at something across the way. Looking over, he saw a cat sitting on a rock on the other side of the road. Mark lined up the device and then pulled the ratchet a few more times until the springs were stretched back as far as they would go.

The cat wasn't even aware of them. It was just sitting on top of the rock, contentedly licking its paws and sunning itself at the same time. Henry soon got a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You're not going to try and hit it, right?" Henry asked. "You're just gonna give it a good scare."

"Lock and load," Mark said.

Once again, Mark kneeled behind the device and adjusted its position.

"Let's line it up here... like this..." he whispered.

"You're not gonna hit it, OK?" Henry asked in a whisper.

Mark then pulled the trigger. In the space of a split second, there was an oily clunk and a high-pitched whine as the springs snapped forward and the device fired.

Across the road, just inches above the cat's head, the bolt half-disappeared into the trunk of a large tree. The cat's head shot up at the sudden disturbance. It looked around for a moment, saw nothing to feel threatened by, and went back to cleaning itself.

"Cool!" Henry shouted.

He and Mark hopped over the wall, checked the road for cars, and ran across toward the cat. In a flash, the animal darted and scampered away. The boys reached the tree and stared at the bolt.

Henry grabbed the end of the bolt and tried to pull it out. It wouldn't budge. It was embedded far too deep.

"Wow, look at that!" Henry exclaimed, his mood almost giddy. "Right in there! That's amazing, Mark. You did it! It's a beauty! And the speed of that thing – I didn't even see it go! I swear you ought to patent this thing."

Mark stood behind him, quietly surveying the scene. The cat had stopped thirty feet away on the gravel shoulder and was staring back at them.

"The scope's not right yet," Mark said, shaking his head in disgust.

Henry looked up at him and followed his eyes to the cat.

"You're kidding, right?" he said. "You weren't really aiming at it, were you?"

Mark turned to him, and a small smirk creased his lips.

"Come on, we've got more to do," he said. "The day's not over yet."

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon outside, climbing more trees, throwing more rocks into the ocean, and even shooting at lined-up empty beer cans with paintball guns. Every time Henry thought there was nothing left to do, Mark always came up with something new and fun.

By late afternoon, the sun had begun to throw a yellowish light on the few clouds that hung in the sky. Mark had another idea and checked his watch.

The tiny display blinked _5:07 p.m._

"Hey," he called out, "it's time for the afternoon train!"

He began to run.

"We going somewhere?" Henry asked, running after him.

"You'll see," Mark said. "Got any pennies?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Just make sure they're handy," Mark said.

They raced across a field of tall grass, then up an embankment, and through a hole in a rusty old chain-link fence. They came across some railroad tracks on an elevated bed of gravel. Henry looked in both directions, but there was no sign of a train.

"You sure one's coming?" he asked.

"Trust me. It doesn't always come, but when it does, it's like clockwork," Mark said. "Here, give me two pennies."

Henry reached into his pocket and took out two of the copper-colored coins. Mark put one on each rail. Then he got down on his hands and knees and pressed an ear against one of the rails.

"What are you doing?" asked Henry.

"Just like in all those Old West movies with John Wayne," Mark said. "I'm listening for the train."

"Did you hear one?"

"No, but let's wait for a bit."

Henry took a step back down from the rails, but Mark just stood there beside the tracks. Henry knew Mark would have plenty of time to get away once he saw a train coming, but it still made him uneasy to see his cousin standing there. He glanced up into the sky. The few wispy clouds had gone from a pale yellow to a much darker orange, and in the near-absence of sunlight, he began to feel the surprising chill of the coming evening.

"Here it comes!" Mark called out.

Henry turned and saw that Mark had put his ear to the rail again. Henry looked far down the tracks but could see nothing. Mark really amazed him sometimes. He knew about all this stuff Henry had never even been aware of. As Henry stared down the tracks, he now saw the faint glimmer of a light appear. Mark was right: there was a train coming.

Henry backed down from the railroad bed and stopped a safe distance away, but Mark stayed on the tracks. Again, Henry felt uneasy, but he knew Mark had plenty of time. Maybe he was showing off, or maybe he just felt as though he didn't have to get away from the tracks yet. Henry was tempted to say something, but he didn't want to seem like a scaredy-cat or anything, so instead he picked up a stone and threw it against the nearby fence.

The train was coming closer and was now crossing the concrete trestle over a nearby ravine. Mark had still not left the tracks.

_What does he think he's doing?_ Henry wondered.

Now the train was less than two hundred yards away and gaining quickly. A deafening blast of noise echoed from the whistle. Mark finally began to walk down from the tracks, but he took his time. The train's whistle blew again, and the pennies had begun to vibrate slightly on the rails.

Moments later, the train rushed past, pulling a violent wake of wind along with it. Mark couldn't have been more than ten feet from the tracks when the train hurled by. Even Henry, standing nearly forty feet away, could feel his hair being blown to the side. He closed his eyes as the air was choked with a storm of dust and green slivers of torn leaves and pine needles. Henry peeked through the dust and saw Mark standing stock-still in the same position, his hair whipping crazily about his face, mouth open as if he were yelling, arms outstretched and fists clenched.

It was a freight train, but not a long one. After the shiny, steel-gray locomotive, half of the cars were tankers, while the other half were open log carriers, probably carrying their cargo away from some logging grounds up north to a paper mill.

The caboose had just passed when Mark scampered back up to the tracks and started searching around. In no time he'd found the two pennies, now both flattened paper-thin and shaped a bit like guitar picks.

"Here you go," Mark said, flipping one of the flattened pennies to Henry. Henry caught it and was surprised.

Henry blew on his fingers. "Whoa! It's hot!"

"Yeah. It has something to do with all of the molecules getting moved around real quick," Mark said.

"I just thought it was one of those urban legends, you know, like the ones on the Internet?" Henry asked curiously.

Mark shrugged. "Well, this ain't one after all. I just decided to experiment on my own one day, after hearing all the rumors at school, and _voila!_ It worked like a charm. Heck, I even used it for a science fair project just last year."

Henry grinned and pocketed the penny. He was amazed by some of the things his cousin knew. Then he and Mark each started to walk along separate rails, with their arms out for balance, like tightrope walkers.

"Hey, Henry."

"Yeah?"

"Whoever can keep his balance the longest, and, can get back to the house fastest, gets first dibs on dessert tonight," Mark said.

"Deal," Henry said.

"Shake on it?" Mark asked.

"You're just trying to distract me," Henry replied, not taking his focus off the narrow path ahead.

Mark put on a wry smile. _I guess that I can be a bit on the predictable side sometimes_, he thought.

_Just you wait, Henry. Just you wait_...

* * *

They were home just before dark, and had dinner with Jack, Janice, Connie, Richard, and Chloe. Henry found himself gradually letting his guard down. He was starting to feel comfortable with this family. Apparently Connie was, too, considering she'd spent most of the day either playing in the house or exploring town with Chloe. Richard had been left the odd one out (even though he'd gone into town with Connie and Chloe), and Henry felt bad for not spending any time with him. He resolved to change that tomorrow.

And even though he and Mark had had some tense moments, Henry pretty much passed it off to a feeling-out process you had to go through with any new friend.

After dinner (at which time Henry had gotten first dibs on dessert, much to Mark's ire), they again watched TV, this time until Janice told them all it was time for bed. Henry and Mark went upstairs, changed, washed up, and got in their bunks. They lay in bed for a while and discussed Mark's plans for the treehouse, with Henry adding a few pretty good ideas to the mix as well. Then Janice stepped into the doorway and flicked off the lights.

The room went dark, except for a shaft of light from the hall coming through the doorway.

"Okay, you two. Time to sleep," Janice said. "See you in the morning."

She left the door partially open. Henry yawned. His eyelids felt heavy, and he did feel tired. It had been a long day, and he and Mark had covered a lot of ground, most of it new to Henry. He lay on his back, his head sinking into the soft feather pillow and his eyes drifted closed with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

"Hey, Henry."

Henry's eyes flickered open. "Yeah?"

"You gonna keep the hideout a secret?"

"Of course! I'm no squealer," Henry said indignantly. "You can trust me, Mark."

"Good."

It soon grew quiet in the room again. Henry looked over the rail at the dark silhouette in Mark's bunk below.

"Mark?" Henry asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Today was real fun."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Mark said, agreeing.

Again it was quiet. Henry started to drift off again.

"Hey, Henry?" Mark asked.

Henry looked back over the rail and stared through the dark at his cousin.

"Yeah?"

Mark spoke with an air of confidence, even at a whisper. "Tomorrow's gonna be even better."

* * *

_A/N: For some time, I've been thinking of doing all or part of a chapter from either Connie or Richard's perspective (since we've largely seen from Henry and Wallace's perspectives so far, and only a bit from Jack, Janice, and Mark). Opinions as to which one I should do? Answer in a review, or message me about it._


	9. Chapter 9 - Talk, Talk, Talk

**Chapter 9 - Talk, Talk, Talk**

**December 13**

* * *

The moment Henry had been dreading had arrived. He and Mark had just finished a breakfast of waffles and sausage when Janice turned from the counter and said, "I almost forgot, Henry. Maggie called last night."

"What did she want?" Henry asked, his voice a bit uneasy.

"Just to remind you that your appointment's at two," Janice replied.

Henry nodded. He was slightly embarrassed that Janice had brought it up in front of Mark. Having Maggie bring it up while they were in town yesterday had been bad enough. Janice must have sensed that, because she said, "Chloe, Mark, why don't you two go off and do something for a little while, okay?"

Chloe got up and left right away, though Mark was slower to depart. "Have fun," he said with a mild hint of sarcasm, waving to Henry.

A moment later, Henry and Janice were left alone in the kitchen.

"Maybe we should call up and cancel it," Henry said, bringing his and Mark's dishes over to the sink.

"Why?" Janice asked as she ran the garbage disposal.

"I don't know," Henry replied. "I guess I really don't feel like I need it."

Janice started to run the hot water and rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "Your father really wants you to go to this appointment, Henry. I know he does."

"But things have changed," Henry said.

Janice looked surprised. "They have?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, I feel okay here. I don't really feel like I have to go talk to a stranger."

"I'm glad you feel that way, and believe me, I understand your reluctance," Janice said. "But I know you promised your father you'd go. And I promised him that I'd make sure you did."

"Do I have to?" Henry asked plaintively.

His pleading manner earned a small laugh from Janice. "Well, it's not like you're going to the doctor or anything."

Henry rubbed his right leg. He could still feel the scar from where he'd gotten his AH injection, and he could almost feel the itch of the cast, too.

Janice could tell that he was now uncomfortable. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Henry nodded. "Just some bad memories – it's nothing." He offered up a faint smile. "At least Maggie's not going to give me a shot."

Maggie Goldblum lived on the opposite side of town. Janice offered to give Henry a ride, but there was plenty of time, and Henry told her he'd just as soon walk.

"You sure you're going to go?" Janice gave him a skeptical look. It was funny, but somehow it reminded him of a certain look his mother used to give him when he said he was going to do something and she wasn't certain he would really go and do it.

"Don't worry, Janice. I'll really go."

Janice smiled at him. "Okay then, Henry," she said. "I suppose I'll have to give you directions."

* * *

Several games and a few hours well-spent with Richard later, Henry rapped on the weather-beaten door that led into Maggie's house. Then he stood back and looked around her porch. Most of the space here was taken up by a set of wicker chairs that sat around a heavy, metal table with an opaque glass top.

A loud buzz sounded from nearby and startled Henry. Then he realized that it was just an electronic lock, and Maggie was letting him in. He took a deep breath and strode through the door, emerging into a rather narrow entry hall. A pastel-green color adorned most of the walls as far as Henry could see, and even though he could tell that the atmosphere was meant to be bright and cheery, it had somewhat of a somber feel to it.

He followed an arrow to a door marked 'Waiting Room', entered, and sat down in an old, padded wooden chair in the corner. The murmur of voices came from the next room and Henry looked to the door as they grew louder. Then the door opened and ever so briefly framed in the doorway was a cute, young redheaded girl – a teenager, judging by her looks. She and Henry exchanged a quick, awkward glance.

Just as the girl was leaving, Maggie came to the door and gave Henry a friendly smile and a wave. "Come in, come in. And, would you mind closing the door behind you?"

Henry stepped inside and closed the door.

Maggie's office was a large room with a vaulted ceiling, and two of the walls lined entirely by overfilled bookshelves. There was a coffee table in the center of the room that was covered in well-used books, papers, and magazines, while a pair of overstuffed leather chairs and a worn sofa sat within an arm's length of it for easy access. The remainder of the walls and Maggie's desk were adorned by everything from watercolor paintings and hand-carved African sculptures to stuffed animals and small musical instruments.

"Hello, Henry. See if you can find a place to sit." Maggie gave him another smile. "Now, my pretend name is Dr. M.A. Y for Yolante Goldblum, MD, PhD, FRS, but I can tell that you're a friendly sort, so you can just call me by my real name, which is Maggie. Now, you go here..." Maggie motioned to the sofa, "I'll sit across the way from you... and we can chat. Are you and your brother and sister settling in okay?"

Henry nodded as he sat down and removed his borrowed jacket.

"I'm glad," Maggie said, smiling. "Mark's a real popular boy around here. You'll have to be careful that he doesn't take you over completely."

Henry offered her a feeble smile. Then he steeled himself and looked into Maggie's eyes.

"Did they send me to see you because they know about me and my mother?" he asked.

Maggie raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly at his question. "Could be," she said, pretending to arrange a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of her and feigning ignorance. "But I'd rather hear about it from you."

A sigh escaped Henry's lips. "So they do know. I thought that maybe they didn't."

"Why did you think that?"

"It was just me, Connie, and Richard in the room with her. I didn't think anyone else could hear me..." he trailed off. "Do you think they'll send me to prison when I'm old enough?"

Surprisingly enough, Maggie maintained her casual tone. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Oh, and why not?" he countered.

"Well, for starters, what exactly have you done, Henry?"

Henry had, for a long time, tried to keep it in, but now the answer unwillingly slipped. "I let someone die," he said, practically blurting it out. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. He wasn't even sure he'd ever thought of it precisely that way before, but as soon as he heard himself say it, he knew that it was true. That was how he felt.

He'd promised. He'd told his mother he wouldn't let her die.

Then he had. And he had let down his whole family by doing so.

Maggie seemingly took his revelation in stride and leaned closer to Henry.

"Tell me how you did it, Henry. Tell me... how did you let your mother die?"

Before Henry could stop himself, the words came spilling out.

The dam had finally broken.

* * *

That night, several hundred concerned citizens packed the auditorium of Castel High School. As far as Janice knew, most were in favor of blocking the demolition and keeping the status quo, which was exactly what she wanted, too.

And then there were those like restaurant owner Mike Hawkins. Janice couldn't understand how someone who had been born and raised here could even think of supporting this project. And she and Jack were merely 'adopted' citizens of this town. But they were _loyal_ citizens.

Janice cast a glance to either side of the stage. To her right sat Jack, and then on his right was Joan Michaels, a petite young woman in her late twenties, and beyond her were Chuck and Linnie Parks, parents of Mark's best friend Alan and longtime members of the town council.

Mike Hawkins and three members of the corporation seeking to develop the beach sat behind the table off to their left. Unlike the men he sat with, all of whom were wearing suits, Mike was casually dressed. He displayed an air of confidence as he spoke.

"And what of the courageous folk who journeyed to our eastern shores nearly four hundred years back?" he asked. "Suppose it had been a group of Janice Evans and her friends."

That earned him a few laughs from the audience. Janice rolled her eyes and began jotting down a memo on the pad in front of her.

Mike continued. "What would have happened then? I'll tell you what. They'd've been saying..." He then began talking in a mockingly effeminate whine. "...don't touch that tree. It's beautiful the way it is. Don't build that town – it'll mess up the pretty view. Don't build that bridge, or that dam, or that factory. Things are just fine the way they are."

A few more laughs from the audience.

"And then what? Friends, I promise you, as sure as I'm standing here before you now, there would have been no civilization here, and the United States of America would not have become the greatest nation on earth!"

He was given tumultuous cheers and applause as he returned to his seat.

_This might be harder than I thought_. Janice took a deep breath, stood to her feet, and walked to the podium. She then folded her hands and spoke into the microphone quietly but clearly, and with force.

"I've been teaching music at our schools for going on ten years now. I've taught your children and my own, and looking around, I see that I've taught quite a few of you here tonight. It won't be long before I'm teaching the children of our alumni, too. It's this kind of continuity that is now under threat. A hundred and fifty or four hundred years, it doesn't matter – that's only on the human timescale. Those beautiful rocks out on Jarman's Bay were formed two-hundred million years ago..."

* * *

The wind had kicked up around dinnertime and increased into the evening. Outside, tree branches swayed and creaked as the wind whistled through them.

Henry twisted restlessly in his bunk, tangling the sheet and blanket around him.

_Someone was calling him. "Henry? Henry, can you hear me?"_

_It was his mother!_

_Henry looked around. He was in the woods, somehow dressed in the clothes he'd worn to the funeral._

* * *

At last, Janice laid down the marker she had been using to illustrate her points about local wildlife and stepped back up to the podium to wrap up her speech.

"Those are just a few of the creatures that depend on our rocky shores. Against the immensity of the geologic and evolutionary timescale, we're the newcomers around here. And we're proposing to annihilate it all with explosives in barely a week, just to make a more tourist-friendly beach!"

That earned her a short round of respectful applause.

"What have they got up at Harbor Falls that we need here so badly? Traffic? Pollution? Drugs and alcohol? Last year they had a couple of murders. The big cities get enough of that in a single day. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not against growth, whatever Mike says... Let's grow. Let's grow the way this community has always grown for the past hundred and twenty years: steadily, and with mature consideration. Let's grow, but let's not explode!"

The auditorium erupted into a thunder of applause and scattered cheering.

Some time later, the hum of fifty separate and simultaneous conversations filled the auditorium as the meeting began to break up. Janice pulled a sweater on over her dress as she weaved her way through the crowd, trying to find Jack.

_Surprise, surprise_. Her husband was standing by the far doors, talking with Joan in an uncomfortably friendly way. And then, to make a point, Jack laid a hand on Joan's shoulder. Janice stepped forward and touched her husband's arm.

Jack removed his hand from Joan's shoulder.

"We ought to be getting home," Janice said.

Jack sighed, barely suppressing his irritation at being interrupted. "Okay, okay. Just another few minutes, all right, Janice?"

Joan offered Janice a smile. "It was a wonderful speech, Janice. We're lucky to have you around."

"Thank you, Joan," Janice said, a hint of ice in her voice. But her steely gaze immediately returned to Jack.

It wasn't Joan she was angry with.

* * *

"_Mom?!" Henry shouted into the air. "Where are you?!"_

"_Here, Henry," came the reply._

_But now all he saw were trees moving, turning slowly as if inside a kaleidoscope._

"_I can't see you!" he shouted desperately._

"_I'm here." But now even her voice was kaleidoscopic, coming from eight different directions at once._

"_Which one are you?!" he cried._

"_This one... this one... this one... this one... this one..."_

"_Which one?!" he cried._

"Which one?! Which..." Henry's eyes suddenly snapped open, his vision swimming. What now? Where were all the trees, and how had it gotten so dark outside all of a sudden?

Reality hit him like a caffeine crash.

"Mom?" he asked into the darkness.

Outside, the wind whistled in response. Henry looked over the rail at the dark shape of Mark asleep in his bunk below.

It had been a dream. Just a dream.

Or was it?

Henry heard a faint creak, and the door to Mark's room opened a few inches. A dim shaft of light from the hall spilled in.

Who'd opened the door? Was it a draft?

"Are you there? Are you?" Henry whispered.

Curiosity and a vague sense of hope drew him out of bed and he quietly slipped through the door and into the hall. Henry looked both ways. The hall was empty. He padded over to the landing and stared over the banister. What he saw in the entryway below made him gasp.

The figure of a woman in a green silk dress was slowly pacing the floor, her back to him as she stopped in front of a small table.

"Mom...?" Henry whispered. He couldn't believe it. He started down the stairs gently and slowly, as if afraid to frighten her. As if a loud noise might cause her to bolt away like a startled rabbit. Just six steps from the bottom landing, one of them creaked.

His mother whirled around, startled.

Only it wasn't his mother.

It was Janice.

Henry was momentarily deflated when he saw his aunt's face. His legs gave out as he sat down hard on the steps. Janice rushed over to the foot of the stairs, a concerned look on her face. "Henry? What's the matter, darling?"

Henry stared at her, his expression blank and guarded. This seemed to hold Janice back.

"Henry?"

Henry stared directly into her eyes and suddenly felt something. He could feel his lower lip tremble and his eyes begin to fill with tears. Maybe it was her. Maybe she'd just... changed a little.

All those ways Janice was soft and nice and understanding to him and his siblings.

Yes. Their mother was there, somewhere.

Inside of Janice.

"You – you came back. I knew you'd come back," Henry said, his voice trembling.

Janice looked confused. "Of course I came back," she said matter-of-factly.

It was too much.

Just as the words had come spilling out to Maggie Goldblum that afternoon, now all the grief Henry had been holding inside came spilling out. Henry buried his face in his hands and began to sob. All the pain and misery of the past seven months, ever since his mom had gotten sick...

It all came pouring out. For the most part, he had held it in for Connie and Richard's sake, but now, it was his time to cry. His time to mourn.

Janice came up the steps and sat beside him, enveloping him with her arms. Henry knew it was happening, and in a way he was grateful for it, but at the moment, his aunt's presence made no difference. Nothing on the outside mattered. It was all on the inside, and it now was all pouring out.

The sound of a boy crying brought Jack out of the den. He stood in the doorway at the end of the hall, not wanting his presence to be noticed. A look of sadness and knowing sympathy was etched into his face.

Janice gently rocked Henry back and forth and lightly kissed him atop his head. It had been a long time since she had held her own son this way.

Someone else watched them as well. Mark stood behind the banister upstairs, his hair tousled and clothes rumpled by an interrupted sleep, watching how his mother cradled Henry, and how his father stood watching silently in the doorway down the hall. It infuriated him.

He narrowed his eyes and scowled. Why was his mother doing that?

She was _his_ mother, not Henry's. He wished she'd stop.

* * *

_A/N: Reviews (if any) are always appreciated. Coming up next will be 'Chapter 10: The Dog'._

_The 'AH' in AH injection stands for Accelerated Healing. In this world, with its more advanced technology, nanomedicine (basically, nanites used for medical purposes) is a major, leading branch of medical science. It's actually rather fascinating, though in reality, it's still years away from practical and widespread applications. _


	10. Chapter 10 - The Dog

**Chapter 10 - The Dog**

**December 14**

* * *

In the morning, Mark's bunk was already empty. Henry was slow to get up. He hadn't gotten much in the way of sleep the night before. All those feelings... all that crying...

Henry yawned and scratched his head. Just the memory of it made him feel tired.

Finally he got up and went to the window. Rain spattered hard against the glass. For what he could see, there was no sign of Mark out in the yard.

Still wearing his pajamas, Henry staggered out of the room and made his way downstairs. The strong smell of coffee and what could've been some kind of spice wafted from the kitchen. Janice was sitting at a barstool behind the marble-topped island counter, sipping a mug of coffee and listening to the morning news on the radio. She looked up and smiled when Henry walked in.

"Good morning, Henry."

"Morning," he mumbled, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"I tried to save you some French toast. But your brother and sister ate it all," she said.

Henry laughed a little. That was just like them. "Where are they now?"

"Exploring the basement with Chloe," Janice replied. "As for Mark...he's out in this rain doing God only knows what."

Henry nodded and went over to the table. He suddenly felt rather awkward and mildly embarrassed around his aunt and stared down at the table before him, trying to avoid Janice's gaze. Then he heard the scraping of wooden legs against the floor and the soft padding of her footsteps, and knew she was coming closer. He felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Okay." Henry glanced up for a second. He saw caring and concern in her eyes and no longer felt quite so embarrassed.

She cared. She understood.

Just like his mom.

Her hand left his shoulder as if she knew just how long he'd be comfortable with it there.

"I suppose you're hungry, right?"

"Yeah," Henry said, nodding slightly.

"Do you want pancakes again, or are you gonna go with French toast?"

Henry thought about it for a moment and a smile began to turn the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. "I'll have some French toast. If it's not too much trouble, that is."

Janice gave him a big smile. "French toast, coming right up."

* * *

Henry was just finishing his second helping of French toast with more of the real Vermont syrup when Chloe suddenly burst into the kitchen, with Connie and Richard at her heels.

"Hey, Mom! Guess what?!" Chloe exclaimed.

"What?" Janice asked playfully, grinning.

"Look what we found down in the basement!"

Chloe's hands, which, until now, had been behind her back, held out a slightly dusty box containing a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle. The picture displayed on the front of the box showed a beautiful view of a lake nestled in a mountain wilderness, probably somewhere in the Rockies.

"Seems like a pretty big puzzle for you, Chloe," Janice said. "You sure you're up to the challenge?"

Chloe nodded vigorously.

"Don't leave us out," Richard piped up eagerly.

"I second that," Connie said.

"Would you like to join us, Henry?" Chloe asked, turning to face him. Her voice was almost pleading.

Henry took a second glance at the puzzle. _A 500-piecer_. _Sure, it'll be a challenge, but it's a good one, _he thought.

He nodded. "Sure. I'll join you. Just gotta put on some regular clothes first."

Chloe's face turned upward in a huge, ear-to-ear grin of delight. "Awesome! We'll be up in my room."

Not ten minutes later, Henry was lying on his stomach on the floor in Chloe's room, trying to get the puzzle pieces organized.

"We turn the pieces over first, right?" Chloe asked.

"Yep," Henry replied.

Another couple minutes later, their task was complete.

"What next?" Richard asked.

"All the pieces with a straight edge," Henry replied, and he put several pieces together as an example. Chloe did likewise.

But his brother and sister both frowned.

"What is it?" Henry asked.

"It's too hard that way," Connie said. "If it weren't for you and Dad, I wouldn't even know how to put _my_ puzzle together, let alone this one."

"Okay, okay," Henry said, nodding. He shared a quick look with Chloe and shrugged. "Then pick a color. How about the sky?"

Connie nodded, and they all started putting together the light blue pieces. She picked up a piece with some blue and some white in it. She seemed uncertain about where it would go.

"It's got blue in it, Conse," Henry said, gently encouraging her.

"So it has to be sky," Connie replied. "But what's the white?"

"Oh, I don't know," Henry said, grinning.

"Think of it this way, Connie. What's white, and in the sky?" said Chloe.

"A cloud!" Connie said.

"Right," said Henry. "And it's got a straight edge..."

"So it has to go..." Connie's eyes raced over the puzzle. "Here!"

"Nice job!" Henry said, beaming. "Now, do you see any blue pieces with a straight edge?"

It was a general question.

Chloe's hand hovered over a green and blue piece, and then she spoke up.

"You're all so nice," she said.

"Well, so are you," Connie replied.

"Thanks," Chloe said rather timidly. She now seemed to hesitate. "Do you guys like living in our house?" she asked.

"Absolutely!" Connie said, her voice enthusiastic.

"What's not to like?" Henry said, smiling.

"Sure..." Richard mumbled.

Chloe's face brightened considerably. "Good. We're going to look after you real well. So none of you are sad."

That caught Henry by surprise. He wasn't sad – at least not this morning.

A slight rustling noise sounded from the doorway and Henry turned his head in that direction. Mark was standing there, wearing a camouflage jacket that was covered in a dark green rain poncho.

"Hey, Henry. I've got something I wanna show you."

"Outside?" Henry asked.

"What? You afraid of a little rain?" Mark asked, tone laced with mild sarcasm.

Henry stood, walked over to the door, and stood face-to-face with his cousin.

"No," Henry replied, crossing his arms in front of him.

A grin suddenly split Mark's face. "Good."

"Don't worry. I'll help you guys finish the puzzle later. I promise," Henry said, as he started following Mark out into the hall. Chloe, and then Connie and Richard stood up and tried to follow. Mark held up a hand and planted it on Chloe's chest.

"Not you," Mark said tersely.

"But I'm his friend too," Chloe replied.

"Well, two's company. Five's _way_ too much of a crowd," Mark said dismissively. Then he gave his sister a slight backwards shove. Chloe stumbled, but caught herself. She sent a scathing glare at her brother.

Mark simply ignored it. Henry raised an eyebrow – this wasn't your typical brother-sister dynamic. There was something else going on here. And it wasn't normal. Chloe's eyes met Henry's, and he felt bad for her. He didn't mind playing with her when Mark wasn't around, but when Mark was around, it was no contest, really.

He didn't want to leave his siblings alone all day again either, least of all Richard, who had no one else to share his interests. But once again, Henry found himself being drawn into the strange enigma that was Mark Evans.

Henry followed Mark down the stairs. He was startled to hear the sudden pounding of angry footsteps in the hall above and Chloe came to the top landing, hands on her hips and face fixed in a mean scowl.

"I don't care about your stupid secrets, Mark!" she shouted. "I've got my own secrets, and I'm not going to tell you a single one!"

Henry stopped on the bottom landing and stared back up at his younger cousin. He was shocked by the sudden fury bursting forth from the eight year-old girl, who, just minutes ago, had been so happy and enthusiastic.

Mark tugged at Henry's sleeve.

Henry gave Chloe one last glance. After donning boots, a coat, and a poncho of his own, Henry followed Mark out the front door and into the pouring rain.

* * *

Chloe sighed heavily and balled her hands into fists. Once again, Mark had found a way to trump her. She had hoped that maybe Henry was on her side, that just _maybe_ he could stand up to Mark on her behalf. But just like everyone else, Henry had been drawn away by her brother's seemingly irresistible charm.

She had long wondered why Mark was like this. Henry seemed so nice with Connie and Richard, and she didn't doubt his loyalty to them. But that loyalty had probably been forged through the shared pain of their mother's death. If not for that, they would probably be just like a normal, bickering trio of siblings. Like any _normal_ brothers and sisters would do.

Chloe had many friends at school with older siblings. Sure, those older brothers or sisters might treat them like brats or pick-on and tease them, but none of them had ever gotten the same cruel treatment Mark afforded solely for her. It was wrong, period.

_Mom and Dad don't believe a word I say about what he does. But one day, somebody will._

* * *

Henry followed Mark through the woods toward the bunker and very nearly slipped on the muddy trail several times. Rain spattered down from the canopy of trees overhead, almost as if they weren't even there. By the time they actually reached the bunker, Henry's socks and the lower half of his jeans were soaked and his boots were caked in mud.

He stepped inside and closed the doors just as Mark flicked on the fluorescent lights overhead.

Where Mark's crossbow contraption had been the other day, now a sleek, jet-black quadrotor drone with red detailing sat in its place. It had four blades, with ducted housings that were fused to each other and the main hull of the drone itself. Henry whistled in amazement.

"Wow..."

Mark beamed. "I know, right?"

Henry circled the table, admiring the drone. "Where'd you get it?"

"A hobby shop down in San Francisco last year."

"Why's it down here?"

"Dad thinks I broke it this past summer. I don't really want him to know that I fixed it."

Henry raised an eyebrow at that, but he merely shrugged it off and suddenly took notice that this drone wasn't ordinary.

"You modified it," Henry said, leaning in for a closer look. There was a grappling hook of sorts mounted to the bottom of it.

"Sure did," Mark replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

"What are you going to do with it?" Henry asked.

Mark stepped around the table and stood in front of Henry. "Can you really keep a secret? This is very important."

"Of course," Henry said, sounding mildly offended.

"I want you to help me with it tomorrow. We're going on a little hike."

"Where?" Henry asked just as Mark threw the light switch and again plunged the old bunker into darkness.

Mark pulled the doors open and was silhouetted against the rain and dim light outside. He turned to Henry.

"Henry, I promise you something truly amazing. Something you'll never forget. OK?"

Henry gave him an almost imperceptible nod and followed him out of the bunker and back into the woods.

* * *

**December 15**

The next morning, following a quick breakfast of cereal and milk, the boys headed back into the woods, this time, bearing Mark's contraption. They stopped behind a pile of old logs near the edge of the road and dug in for another session of target practice.

"Status," Mark asked.

Henry put on a mock serious face and slid a bolt into the central slot. "System armed and ready."

"Excellent." Mark hefted the device and set it up on a fallen log. Then he began to work the ratchet back and forth. "Increasing torque. Be on the lookout for incoming."

Henry scanned the blue sky with his eyes, punctuated here and there by a puff of white cloud.

"Torque at maximum," Mark announced. He pulled the hood of his ghillie suit up and over his face before crouching down behind the device and looking down the scope. "Scanning."

"Try and hit that tree," Henry said.

"Negative," Mark replied.

"OK then...try and hit the wall," Henry suggested, pointing to the wall that shielded them from sight of any passersby's on the road.

"Negative," Mark said, and kept on scanning. Henry wondered what he was looking for. He didn't have to wonder for long.

"Great!" Mark said. "Target acquired."

Henry looked up over the log pile. Trotting along the inner edge of the wall, completely oblivious to their presence, was Captain Lawson's scruffy brown terrier, carrying a rolled-up newspaper in its mouth.

"Oh look...it's Captain Lawson's nasty little mutt," Mark said in a mocking voice. He began to move the device in time with the dog as it neared their position. It seemed to Henry that he was aiming right at it.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked, concern in his voice.

Mark turned the contraption one last time and aimed the scope directly ahead of the dog. Just as it crossed his line of sight, he fired.

In that split second, Henry heard the clunk and whine of the device, and the sudden, surprised yelp from the dog as it staggered against the wall but kept on walking. Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

Mark hadn't been aiming for it after all!

But then a small crimson spot appeared on the dog's side.

Henry's breath hitched in his throat.

The spot began to grow larger. And the dog faltered, but tried to keep on walking.

"Oh, my God!" Henry gasped.

By now, the red spot covered the dog's entire side, marring the brown fur. His legs buckled and folded beneath him. He struggled up, almost succeeding in getting back to his feet, and finally toppled down in a heap. A pitiful whimper echoed from his mouth.

One leg pawed at the air and fell. Then the dog lay still.

Henry was too stunned to say anything else.

He turned and stared at Mark in disbelief. Mark had pulled the hood back from his face and was still watching the dog. His expression was one of rapt wonder and awe.

Mark caught Henry's look of disbelief. Then Mark spread his hands innocently and said, "I only wanted to scare it!"

Henry wondered just how sincere he was.

* * *

They carried the dead animal by its' legs into a heavily wooded thicket, as far as possible from the house. After maybe five minutes, Mark had finished digging a shallow grave in the soft earth. He tried to pull the newspaper from the dog's now-stiff jaws, but it wouldn't budge.

Henry took the dog's rear legs, while Mark took the front, and they dropped the poor animal into its' final resting place.

Mark took a spade and began to cover the dog with the excavated dirt.

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust..."

Disgusted, Henry turned away, but as he did, he caught sight of nearly a dozen small mounds in the earth.

"What are those?" he asked.

Mark turned from his grim work and looked to where Henry was pointing.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Moles, I guess," he replied with a grin.

Henry raised an eyebrow._ Moles?_

Mark then started to blow a mock version of 'Taps' as he filled in the grave. Henry shook his head in disgust and simply walked away.

Sometimes Mark could funny. And sometimes he wasn't – like right now.

"C'mon, Henry! Where's your sense of humor?" Mark called after him in an oddly jovial tone. There was a weird smile on his face, too.

Henry didn't reply and kept on walking.

There was something wrong with this.

He was starting to think his cousin was really sick.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you're liking it so far. Chapter 11 will be posted as soon as possible. I already know what I'm having Mark do with the mini-drone__, but I wanted some opinions on what to do for the 'Blackout' chapter. In the original TGS, Mark has no siblings of his own to protect, hence why he so readily jumps to Connie's defense; but here, with Henry having Connie and Richard to protect, how will he handle the blackout? Will he also jump in to protect Chloe from Mark? Would he drag Connie and Richard through a darkened house to find Mark and Chloe? Suggestions and opinions are definitely welcome._

_As for the drone, picture one of those Parrot AR 2.0's. It's a real-life mini-drone/UAV you can control with a tablet or smartphone (typically iPads and iPhones)._

**Reviews: **_Thank you, Comedy Monarchy. I appreciate the support. _

_And, __don't worry __AM83220, you won't be disappointed. Mark's katana will be used later on._


	11. Chapter 11 - The Friend

**Chapter 11 - The Friend**

* * *

Once again, Henry was trying as hard as he could to avoid Janice's gaze.

_What he had just seen her son do... _

She would never believe him, and at this point, telling her, or anyone else what had happened would only get him caught in the middle.

And for that reason, Henry bit his tongue and didn't say a word about this morning's incident. In fact, he hadn't spoken a word to anyone since. Unfortunately, his total silence was now drawing Janice's attention.

"Henry? Are you all right?" Janice asked.

Henry slowly looked up at her.

He and Mark were seated on the bar stools behind the counter, and Janice was over by the oven, making their lunch: toasted chicken subs.

Henry shrugged.

"Yeah..." he replied in a mildly offhanded tone. "Just drifted off for a sec there."

"Okay..." Janice said uncertainly. "I was just wondering, since you've been so quiet."

But even after she had plated their food and set it in front of them, Henry just stared at it, while Mark quickly began to wolf his down.

"Are you sure you're okay, Henry? You don't seem like you're very hungry."

Henry nodded. But he still couldn't get the memory of that morning out of his head.

"It's pretty unusual for a boy your age not to have any appetite," Janice said.

Henry looked over at Mark.

"We stopped at Parsons' in town this morning. Henry had his fair share of the cookies there," Mark said in between bites.

"Ah ha," Janice said, nodding. There was a slight grin on her face. "That explains it."

Henry bit his lip. The temptation to let Janice know the truth about that morning was almost overwhelming. But then he briefly locked eyes with Mark.

Neither of them even flinched. They just stared at each other.

_Just keep your mouth shut_, Mark's eyes seemed to say to him. _Not unless you want to get in trouble, too_.

Henry quickly broke off eye contact and finally took a bite of his sandwich.

Dang, it really _was_ good.

Janice knew her food, that was for sure.

Henry was barely halfway finished with his sandwich when a loud car horn sounded from the driveway. Mark's face lit up upon hearing the noise. He eagerly looked up at Janice, who nodded, a smile on her face. Then he turned to Henry.

"Hey, Henry – You mind coming outside with me?" Mark asked.

Henry was uncertain. "Why?"

"There's someone out there I want you to meet."

"Who?" Henry asked.

"One of my friends from school."

_One of his friends_... Well, it couldn't be all bad, especially after what had happened earlier. With any luck, he wouldn't have to worry about Mark's friends doing anything strange, either.

"Sure," Henry said with an offhanded shrug. "Why not?"

He took one last bite of his sandwich and rather wistfully left it on the plate to follow Mark.

On their way down the hall, Henry was very nearly mowed down by Richard, who came bolting down the stairs, face eager.

"Is Daddy back?" Richard asked excitedly.

Henry went stock still for a second and he shook his head rather sadly.

"Sorry, buddy. We went over this the night he left, remember?"

Richard's face fell. The four year-old nodded dejectedly.

Henry kneeled in front of his little brother and laid both hands on his shoulders.

"Dad's going to come back when he comes back, Rich. I miss him, too. But you've gotta be strong – show everyone how grown up you can be," Henry said, giving Richard an encouraging smile.

"Real-y? Me?" Richard asked, blinking back tears.

Henry nodded. "You bet, little man. Maybe you can even show up your big sis, too."

That brought a tiny grin to Richard's face. He sniffled. "OK. I will do 'at."

Now it was Henry's turn to smile. "Atta boy, Rich. And don't worry – I promise we'll do something together later tonight, OK?"

"Okeydokey, Henny."

Henry had to grin at that one. Richard could pronounce almost every 'R' he spoke aloud, except for the one in Henry's name.

He even heard a barely suppressed snicker from Mark.

Henry ignored it. Then he wrapped Richard in a bear hug and growled in a low, throaty voice, eliciting a fit of giggles from the four year-old.

"Now go on," Henry said. He tousled Richard's hair and gave him a pat on the head before the little boy scampered off into the kitchen, probably to ask Janice for a snack or something.

Mark gave Henry a strange look as they slipped on their shoes and jackets.

"What?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

His cousin shrugged indifferently.

"Nothin'," Mark replied as they headed out the front door, his voice all-too nonchalant.

Sitting in the driveway behind the carport was a dark blue Chevy Suburban, engine idling. And as soon as Mark and Henry were outside, the engine shut off and a boy of near-equal height to both cousins hopped out and let out a deep breath, a contented grin on his face. Mark jogged over to the boy, not waiting for Henry to follow, hand outstretched.

They shook and clapped each other on the back.

As Henry strode down the walk to join them, he saw an older man, probably of his own father's age and roughly the same height leaning against the far side of the SUV. He was wearing a dark green windbreaker and jeans, and sported a head of average-length, medium-brown hair.

The boy, on the other hand, though of equal height and presumably similar age to Mark and Henry, sported a head of shaggy, carrot-red hair. He wore white and gray sneakers, blue jeans, and a black hoodie emblazoned with the Los Angeles Rams logo.

Then he saw Henry and offered a hand. "You must be Mark's cousin from Maine. Alan Parks."

Henry shook his hand. "Henry."

"Kinda sucks that we all live in states or parts of states where you can get pneumonia from swimming half of the year, huh?" Alan quipped.

Henry smiled and laughed. He was glad to meet someone else his age with a more normal sense of humor. "It's that way almost _year-round_ in Maine. At least here you have some real beaches to speak of. Back home, what few beaches we have are all cold and gray. Not very exciting, as I'm sure you can well imagine."

"What say we head in and watch something?" Mark said, suddenly breaking into the conversation. "Preferably a movie."

Alan chuckled as he hefted a sleeping bag and backpack out of the SUV. "Always in a hurry, aren't you?" he said.

"You have no idea," Henry said.

That earned him a slap in the back of the head from Mark.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Mark just shrugged indifferently. Then he waved to the man standing behind the SUV. "Hey, Mr. Parks."

Chuck Parks nodded. "Mark. How's things?"

"Pretty good."

"Dad, didn't you say something about Christmas shopping on the way over?" Alan asked, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

His father sighed and chuckled as he got back in the SUV. "I'm going, I'm going."

The three boys stood off to one side as he carefully turned the huge vehicle around, and waved until he disappeared down the drive and out of sight. Then Henry and Alan followed Mark inside, where Janice was waiting for them.

"Hello, Alan."

Alan nodded and gave Janice a goofy grin. "Hey there, Mrs. E."

"You ready for tomorrow night?" Janice asked.

"You bet," Alan replied, his tone confident.

Mark groaned and rolled his eyes. "Aw, Mom... You're not gonna make Alan practice, are you?"

Henry looked on in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what was going on now.

Janice's tone was surprisingly patient. "No, not right now, at least," she said, folding her arms in front of her.

Mark's face suddenly looked downcast. "I'm sorry if I came across as rude, Mom. I didn't mean to be."

"I know, sweetheart."

"I'll try to be more understanding next time," Mark said apologetically.

"I know," Janice replied. "Now you three go on and have some fun. By all means don't let me stop you."

As she returned to the kitchen, Henry scratched his head in confusion. "Okay... Someone mind telling me what just happened there?"

Mark sighed. "She's set up a benefit concert at the high school tomorrow night, for her beach thing. Chloe and Al-Park here are part of it."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Al-Park?"

"Alan Parks. Al-Park," Mark explained.

By Henry's look, anyone could tell he still didn't understand.

"Watch it," Alan said. "Don't go pulling that one out unless you want to be called Marky-Mark."

A sigh escaped Mark's lips. "Fine," he grumbled.

_Turnabout's fair play_, Henry thought.

"Now, Mark. You still got those Nerf guns?" Alan asked, grinning.

* * *

The next few hours practically flew by.

Following an hour-long Nerf battle in the upstairs hall, they watched _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_ on the flatscreen in Mark's room, all the while eating popcorn and occasionally whispering back and forth. Once the movie was over and done with, Mark had practically begged Janice to order them some pizza.

Now the boys were out in the driveway, with Henry and Alan engaged in a heated, one-on-one basketball game, all the while trying to teach Mark the basics of the game. In order to do so, Mark simply watched from the open tailgate of the van in silence as Henry and Alan each dribbled the orange and black ball around the driveway, with one occasionally faking the other out and trying to make a basket.

They were quite evenly matched, from what Mark could tell.

But the way they had connected almost instantly was what worried Mark. Why hadn't Henry connected so well with _him_ at first? A feeling of jealousy began to grow inside of him.

"Mark!"

Mark was quickly snapped out of his train of thought.

"Yeah?" he said, looking up.

Henry looked at him quizzically. "You paying attention here, or what?"

Mark shrugged. "Sure."

"Then come on over, man," Henry said, waving to Mark. "I shouldn't have to tell you, it takes a certain level of patience," Henry said.

Sighing, Mark stepped forward and took the ball from Henry. "I got it, cuz."

At first, Henry was inclined to believe him. Mark was dribbling the ball, albeit a tad awkwardly, but he was doing it nonetheless.

Henry nodded in approval.

_Not bad_...

Then Mark tried for a basket. But instead of simply lobbing the ball up and into the net like both Henry and Alan expected, he tried for a slam-dunk. The ball simply ricocheted off the backboard, sending it flying twenty feet down the driveway, and rolling another ten. Mark didn't fare much better – after hanging from the rim for a few seconds, he fell flat on his rear end.

Henry put his head in his hands and sighed.

_Maybe I spoke too soon_.

"You all right, man?" Alan asked as he and Henry ran forward to help Mark up.

Henry's cousin grimaced slightly. "Yeah. I'm good."

He suddenly put on a cheesy grin as he raced off to retrieve the ball.

"He just never learns, does he?" Henry remarked, sighing.

"Not really," Alan replied.

Henry's face suddenly grew pensive. "Alan?"

"Yeah?"

Henry briefly glanced in the direction Mark had disappeared and lowered his voice. "It may be nothing. My dad told me not to take anything too seriously."

"What is it, then?" asked Alan.

"Have you ever noticed anything..., well, 'strange' or 'different' about Mark?"

The other boy sighed and bit his lip. "So you've noticed, too, huh?"

Henry scoffed. "Hard not to," he replied. "Especially the way he treats Chloe."

"I just thought that was the way siblings typically were," Alan said, shrugging.

Henry shook his head. "Even at our worst, I'd never treat Connie like that. You don't know the half of it."

Alan snorted. "Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea. This one time he seems like he's actually in a good mood, I asked him if I can hold that Japanese sword, even just for a minute..."

"Believe me, I know," Henry said. "First full day here, I saw him practically twist Chloe's arms off just because she picked up a baseball we'd been tossing around earlier."

"There's something about him... I just can't put my finger on it." Alan said under his breath as Mark came jogging back up the driveway, the basketball under his arm, still grinning.

"So, how'd I do?" Mark asked.

Henry opened his mouth to respond when a strange car came rolling up the drive behind Mark, a lit sign atop it.

Mark whirled around and broke into a huge grin as he jumped out of the car's path. "All right!" he shouted triumphantly.

The pizza was here.

"Not bad," Henry said in reply to his cousin as they started trudging off toward the house. Mark was first up the walk and he quickly disappeared into the house. But Henry took Alan aside, letting the pizza guy past them.

"That something about him..." Henry said, his words trailing off.

"Yeah?"

"Does it feel as if..."

Henry hesitated for a moment.

"'Does it feel as if' what, Henry?" Alan asked, getting slightly impatient.

"As if something's missing?"

* * *

_A/N: I know, a bit of a filler chapter and I may have rushed it a tad, but it'll help set up some later parts of the story. And don't worry - this won't be Alan's only appearance. Chapter 12 - 'The Drone' is next, and I'll try to get it out ASAP. The action and tension will pick up in there, and in the next chapter. I guarantee it. And, sometime in the next few chapters, I'll try to include the first POV from Richard's perspective._

_As for the LA Rams reference, even though at this point it was a year before they moved to St. Louis in OTL, they'll still be in California through modern times in this universe._

_* Try guessing where Mark's nickname comes from. _

**_Reviews: _**_Again, thank you for all the reviews and compliments, 90TheGeneral09. _


	12. Chapter 12 - The Drone

**Chapter 12 - The Drone**

* * *

Later that night, after Connie, Richard, and Chloe had all gone to bed, Henry suddenly found himself with nothing to do. And with Alan off practicing with Janice, and Mark up in his room, doing God only knew what, Henry now found himself alone, too.

He wandered out into the living room. A bunch of framed photographs sat on top of the baby grand piano. Henry wandered over to it and struck a key with his finger. A note rang out, but it didn't sound right.

Maybe it needed tuning?

He began to look at the pictures. A lot of them were of Jack, Janice, Mark, and Chloe. Some were bright summer shots of them at the beach in light clothes; others were taken in the middle of a darker, snowy winter, probably up in the mountains. There were also photos of them with people Henry didn't know – obviously friends or other, more distant relatives.

Then a mid-size photo in a silver frame caught his eye. It was of his mom and dad, standing on the front porch of their house back in Maine, his mother holding a small, blond-haired child. They were dressed warmly and had big smiles on their faces. His mother's hair was long and she looked very healthy. Henry turned the frame over. On the back, someone had written '_Wallace, Susan, and little Henry – Thanksgiving, 1983_.'

Henry suddenly felt tears rise uncontrollably into his eyes.

It was all so hard to believe.

It was all so unfair.

It made him feel so bad.

_Why did she have to go away?_

He turned the frame over again and looked down at the photo. A tear suddenly splashed against the glass. Then another.

"Henry?"

Startled, Henry spun around, accidentally knocking several of the photographs off the piano with his arm. They fell to the carpet with a muffled crash.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry," Henry gasped, quickly rubbing the tears from his eyes and kneeling down. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right," Janice said, joining him.

"I'm really sorry," Henry said. He started picking up the pictures. So far none of them appeared to be broken.

"It's no big deal," Janice said dismissively.

"I swear it was an accident," Henry blurted. "Really."

Janice gave him a funny smile. "I believe you, Henry. Anyway, nothing's broken. We'll just put them all back the way they were and everything will be..."

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the photograph Henry still held in his hand. "Oh, Henry," she said softly and sadly.

Henry stared down at the floor, unable to look her in the eye.

"Maybe I should have put that one away," Janice said.

"No, it's okay," Henry said softly. He looked down at the photo. "Did you like my mom?"

"Oh, yes," Janice replied. "Everybody did."

"That's what everybody _says_. You're not just saying that for my sake, are you?"

"No, of course I'm not. She was a wonderful person, Henry. And she loved you all very much."

Henry gently squeezed the frame in his hand. "Just someone in a picture...just anyone...and anyone could look at it...there's nothing special about it, really..."

"Of course she's special, Henry," Janice said. "She always will be. To you, your siblings, and anyone in their right mind who cared about her."

"The last time I saw her...she said she'd always be with me."

"It's true," Janice said. "People may die, but they'll always stay with you. They never leave you."

As she said this, she bent down and picked up one last photograph. It was of a boy with a head of shaggy, medium-brown hair, maybe two or three years old, wearing green pajamas and holding a toy rubber whale.

Janice suddenly grew quiet.

"Is that Matthew?" Henry asked in a somewhat hesitant voice.

Janice nodded rather sadly, her eyes wistful.

"Your mother is alive in you," she said, looking into Henry's eyes. "She'll always be a part of you."

"And Matthew in you?" Henry asked.

"Yes."

"What was he like?"

Janice smiled and wiped a small tear from her eye. "He was very inquisitive and even helpful for his age. Eager and full of energy."

"Sounds like Richard to me," Henry said, a smile turning at the corners of his mouth.

"I thought so, too," Janice said. "From the minute I laid eyes on your little brother..."

Henry suddenly looked around. "Where's Alan?" he asked. "I thought you were practicing something with him for tomorrow night."

"We finished a few minutes ago, and I sent him up to Mark..." she suddenly trailed off as her gaze turned toward the hall.

Suddenly Henry felt someone else in the room. He turned and saw Mark standing in the doorway. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that his cousin had been standing there and watching them for a while.

"Oh, Mark. Hi, hon." Janice said.

"Hi." Mark's tone was flat and utterly devoid of emotion. It was different, almost disturbingly so, from the boy with seemingly boundless energy and no limits that Henry knew and had grown accustomed to.

Janice stood and spoke to both of them at once.

"It's getting late. I'll come up with you, help you guys get settled for the night."

As they started up the stairs, Janice talked over her shoulder.

"I've been meaning to ask you two – What are you up to out in the woods?"

"Well, it's this –"

Mark sharply cut Henry off in mid-sentence. "It's a surprise," he said.

Once again, Henry was momentarily embarrassed, his loyalties torn between Mark and Janice.

But Mark's mother simply laughed it off. "A 'surprise.' OK, then. If that's the way you want it."

Henry briefly exchanged glances with Mark, but the latter's icy stare kept him silent right up to the moment he fell asleep.

* * *

**December 16**

The next morning, Alan's father arrived to pick him up right after breakfast, and Mark went out to the bunker. Said he had to take care of something before their big hike later. Henry didn't ask what it was, and frankly, he didn't really care. He'd had enough of Mark's 'secrets' for the time being.

Once again, he found himself without anything to do. It was an aggravating feeling, to say the least.

And that was what pushed him to go look into Jack's study. It was the one room in the house that Mark's father didn't allow him to go into unsupervised.

From the second Henry peeked through the partly open door, it kind of reminded him of Maggie's office, with stuffed animal heads (the trophy kind) and curious watercolor paintings mounted high up on the wall. It was dark inside and the curtains were half-closed, letting in only a dim shaft of morning sunlight.

"Henry?"

At the sound of the voice, and a firm hand resting on his shoulder, Henry froze and spun around, in trepidation and fear of doing something he maybe shouldn't be doing.

"Uncle Jack?"

Mark's father stood in front of Henry, wearing a loose-fitting green t-shirt and jeans, not to mention a bemused grin on his face.

"I – I was just –" Henry stammered.

"Easy there, big guy," Jack said, chuckling. "You're not in trouble or anything. I was just coming in to get something out of my desk, but now that I think about it, I _have_ wanted to talk with you, so, come on in for a minute."

Henry's eyes widened, still thinking he was in trouble.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Jack nodded and motioned for Henry to follow him as he went inside and turned on the lights. Henry took a few tentative steps once he was through the door and stopped just short of his uncle's desk.

"Go on. Sit down," Jack said with a laugh. "I don't bite."

That brought a slight grin to Henry's face as he dropped into one of the chairs in front of Jack's desk.

"I know it's going on five days that you've been here, but I just want to make sure you're all having a good time and settling in all right."

Henry nodded. "So far, so good, Uncle Jack. No complaints on my end."

_That was a total lie_. He hated lying to his uncle, but saying anything to Jack about his son right now would probably meet with as much success as trying to tell Janice yesterday at lunch.

"You sure you're not homesick or anything?" Jack asked.

"I'm fine, though you might wanna keep an eye on Rich – he thought Alan arriving yesterday was Dad coming back," Henry said.

A slight frown crossed Jack's face. "Poor little guy. That must've been a pretty big letdown."

Henry solemnly nodded in agreement. "I talked with him, tried to explain it."

"And?"

"I told him to be strong and show everyone how grown up he could be. Even gave him an extra incentive by telling him he could try and show up Connie."

Jack chuckled. "That ought to do it. And I should know – there's nothing quite like the idea of showing up an older sibling."

"I don't exactly have that option," Henry said. "Being the oldest has its' advantages and disadvantages."

"I think your dad might agree with that. On the one hand, he could boss me around, but on the other, he was responsible for me and had to do more than half of the chores on his own 'till I was old enough."

"I do what I have to," Henry replied. "It's not much."

"Not much? Just last week, your dad told me you had _too_ much on your plate."

Henry just shrugged nonchalantly. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" Jack asked, concerned.

Henry nodded. "I have to. I promised her."

"Who? Your mother?"

The boy's silence spoke volumes.

"I know how you feel, Henry. When we lost Matthew... Look, you can talk to me, okay?"

When his nephew still didn't respond, Jack quickly changed the subject. "Are you certain you and Mark are getting along all right?"

Henry grimaced and took in a sharp breath. "Not entirely."

Jack nodded. "I thought as much," he said. "I know Mark can seem a little...strange at times, but that's just the way he is. He takes some getting used to."

_No kidding_, Henry thought.

"And, if it makes you feel any better, it took Alan a good while, too. Now, just look at 'em. They're like best pals. You two don't exactly see eye to eye on something right now – that much I can tell, but you'll be back to being best buds by tomorrow or sooner. I guarantee it."

_If only it were that easy, Uncle Jack_...

"Tell you what, as long as you're careful, I'll let you come in here and look around whenever you want," Jack said.

Henry's eyes went wide. "Really?"

Jack grinned. "Sure. I could tell that you were pretty curious. And, I hate to say it, but I trust you in here alone more than I do Mark."

Henry raised an eyebrow at that. _Odd_. He was a complete stranger in this house, having never been here before in his life, and yet his Uncle Jack trusted him more than he did his own son.

"Why?" Henry asked.

"Mark can get a little too curious sometimes."

Henry gave a silent nod of agreement.

At that moment, a slight creeping sensation invaded the back of his neck. It was all-too familiar, especially after last night...

Henry whirled around in his chair to see Mark standing in the doorway, wearing a short-sleeve plaid shirt and jeans, with a black ball cap partly obscuring his eyes.

_Good night! Did Uncle Jack __ever__ teach him how to knock?_

"Oh, hey there, Mark," Jack said. His tone was somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of Mark having heard even part of his conversation with Henry.

"Dad." Mark gave a slight nod, acknowledging his father's presence.

"Is there something you want, son?" Jack asked.

Mark nodded and looked to Henry. "Henry, everything's ready. It's time to move out."

Henry turned and gave his uncle a questioning look.

"Go on," Jack said, nodding. He had a slight grin on his face.

Henry rose from his seat, took a few steps toward the door, and then stopped.

"What are you guys doing out there now?"

"A special project, Dad," Mark replied cryptically.

"Special project, eh? What'd you do now? Go and join Stanford when I wasn't looking?" Jack asked, chuckling.

Mark gave his father a Cheshire grin.

Henry still just stood a few steps from the door. Truth be told, he'd rather stay and keep talking with his uncle.

"Hey, Henry. You coming or what?" Mark asked.

Henry glanced back at Jack.

"Go ahead," Jack said encouragingly. "Don't feel like you have to stay on my account."

_If only you knew_, Henry thought. He reluctantly followed Mark all the way out the front door and into the woods.

Out here, it actually felt a bit warmer than yesterday, enough so that neither of them even needed a coat. But the air was still relatively cool, giving the environment a rather pleasant feel to it. Not at all like the feeling of apprehension building in the pit of Henry's stomach.

As they wound through the woods on their way toward the bunker, Mark suddenly turned and started talking.

"Look – I'm really sorry about the dog," Mark said, his voice earnest and surprisingly sincere. "I honestly didn't even mean to hurt it, let alone kill it. The whole thing was an accident. Honestly."

_Honestly_? Honestly, Henry didn't really know what to think, so he just absently nodded and kept on walking.

Mark suddenly stopped in the middle of the trail and nodded in the direction of the house. "If it'll make you feel any better, cuz, I can always go back in and tell my parents about the dog. But it'll get us both into a whole mess of trouble neither of us really want."

Henry let out an exasperated sigh. To be perfectly honest with himself, he had survived the day since the little 'accident'. No one's wrath had descended upon him. Lightning hadn't struck, either. Unfortunately, Captain Lawson's dog was gone, and nothing he said or did could change that.

"Let's just forget about it," Henry said. Despite feeling wary, he was glad to be relieved of the boredom he'd felt when he had no one to goof off with. "So, are we going on this hike or what?"

Mark grinned. "That we are. We're just making a quick stop first."

They reached the bunker and Mark started to open the doors. Henry reached for his arm and stopped. Mark turned, surprised.

"What?"

"Can I trust you?" Henry asked.

His cousin just stared back at him. He knew what Henry meant: he didn't want any more trouble.

"Hey, man, we're blood brothers, remember?"

Like that was somehow meant to say, '_Of course you can trust me_.'

Henry shook his head as Mark slipped through the doors and into the dark void beyond. There was just something about the way Mark affected him. On the one hand, he was worried about what his older cousin might do next, and on the other, he couldn't wait to find out what he had planned. It was strange.

He stepped inside and closed the doors just as Mark flicked on the overhead lights. The drone was still resting right where it had been the other day, but now a pair of backpacks sat on the floor at the foot of the table. Acting all businesslike, Mark shouldered one and passed the other to Henry without a word. For looking so full, the bag was surprisingly light as Henry slung it across his back, but he could tell there was something in there nonetheless.

"What are we gonna do with it?" Henry asked, gesturing at the drone.

Mark hefted it off the table and held it under one arm before responding.

"We're going to be taking some flying lessons," Mark replied with a grin, his tone cryptic.

Just like usual.

At this point, Henry was going against his better judgment, which was telling him to back out. But what could it hurt to at least _see_ what Mark had planned with the drone? At the first sign of trouble, he'd back out.

Outside, a slight breeze had kicked up, and every now and then, the sun would be partly obscured by banks of white clouds, casting shadows through the trees and underbrush around the boys.

Mark led the way through the woods until they came to the stone wall at the edge of the road. They both carefully vaulted over it and ran across the road, at which point they turned to walk alongside it, heading in the opposite direction of town.

About five minutes on, the strange feeling in the pit of Henry's stomach returned. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to this so readily. Even worse, he'd basically agreed to it two days ago, before the incident with the dog, and before he'd truly had an indication that there was something about Mark that wasn't quite right.

Now, here he was, trapped in one of his cousin's schemes. He could always back out, but he didn't want to leave Mark all on his own in the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we going?" Henry asked after walking in silence for a few minutes longer.

"It's not much farther," Mark casually replied.

Just up ahead on their right, a narrow gravel road cut down through the rocks and led up into a massive stand of evergreens. Mark veered off the main road and started up the incline, with Henry following.

The trees up here cast deep shadows, with surprisingly little light getting through from above. The general feeling that it gave off was rather eerie.

At least, that's the way Henry felt.

They passed a slight curve in the overgrown, trail-like road, and not far ahead, their path abruptly ended at a rusted old guardrail. Just beyond was an overhang of rock that jutted out over a fairly deep ravine.

Mark stopped and kneeled behind the guardrail before taking off his backpack. Henry did the same.

Roughly a quarter mile to their left, an arched concrete bridge spanned the ravine. Every minute, cars would whizz by on it, either heading into or out of town.

Henry watched as Mark opened his own bag and removed a medium-sized glass jar with a metal lid. It was filled with some kind of golden-yellow liquid. Mark then flipped the drone onto its back, opened the grappling claws on the underbelly, and carefully affixed them around the jar.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked. His curiosity – and dread – was steadily growing.

"Like I said," Mark replied as he flipped the drone so that it now rested atop the jar. "We're getting in some flying lessons today. Now, open up your bag."

Henry unzipped his bag and removed a tablet from inside. It had been wedged between two pillows to prevent any damage.

"Isn't this part of your computer?" Henry asked as he handed the tablet to Mark.

"Sure is," Mark replied. "It's one of the only things that can control these quadrotors."

Within seconds, he had the device up and running. With that, the drone suddenly buzzed to life, its' four small props quickly spinning up.

"What do you think?" Mark asked, looking to over at Henry.

Henry simply nodded in approval.

With a deft touch of a finger to the screen, Mark had the drone hovering roughly five or six feet off the ground, though not without some effort from its' mystery cargo. Then the small craft took off over the ravine, heading for another stand of tall evergreens on the opposite side.

"Don't these things have cameras?"

Mark nodded and held the tablet so Henry could see.

More than half of the screen was taken up by a surprisingly sharp and focused view from the perspective of the drone. Every second, the trees on the opposite side got closer and closer, until it stopped amongst them, blocking out its' view of the highway.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked. Now he was just plain puzzled.

For the better part of a minute, Mark didn't respond, and, he kept the drone hovering just inside the cover of the trees.

This just kept getting stranger, almost by the second. And, Henry didn't like it.

Not one bit.

Finally, Mark began to maneuver the drone through the trees and back into view of the highway.

_What's going on now? Car watching? _

Henry got his answer sooner than he would have liked.

Mark suddenly turned the drone in the direction of the bridge and angled it downward ever so slightly.

"What are you doing _now_?" Henry asked. Still, just like last time, Mark remained eerily silent. Henry's feeling of dread refused to go away, no matter how hard he tried.

"Lesson Number One," Mark said. "_Always_ know what you're doing."

Henry cocked his head. "What?"

With that, Mark opened up the throttle to full, and the drone shot ahead far faster than it had before.

Too late, Henry had a flash of realization, and he could do nothing but watch helplessly through the camera as the drone barreled toward the roadway below it at full speed.

The ground rushed up toward the small craft, seeming to embrace it, and then the display turned to pure static.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you all liked this chapter. Ch. 13 - What We've Done shouldn't take too long. Stay tuned. And keep the reviews coming!_

_From this point on, Henry's trust for Mark will be virtually non-existent. And, any guesses as to what was in that jar Mark attached to the drone? You'll find out soon enough._


	13. Chapter 13 - What We've Done

**Chapter 13 - What We've Done**

* * *

At a speed of very near a hundred miles-an-hour, the drone slammed into the roadbed of the bridge, and in the space of a split second, a brief, but intense red and yellow-orange fireball erupted at the point of impact.

Horrified drivers slammed on their brakes, sending cars fishtailing and careening across both lanes of California SR 1. An oncoming car in the southbound lane collided head-on with one of the first cars that had swerved to avoid the explosion. Another car from the southbound lane swerved to avoid the first two cars, and ended up t-boning a fourth car in the opposite lane, completely blocking off the bridge.

Henry watched from afar in frozen horror. Someone was going to be horribly maimed, or even worse, killed.

All because of him.

If only he had known...

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Mark staring at the unfolding carnage on the bridge, in an eerily similar and even more so disturbing fashion to when he'd killed the dog yesterday. He was enraptured, and worse, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.

Another two northbound cars piled into the third, sending it skidding further down the bridge and eventually flipping onto its' side. Beyond that, two more cars had slammed into each other and for a time were locked in a weird, violent, skidding dance before finally crashing headlong into the guardrail. Next was a minivan that rear ended one of those two, sending the front end of the other smashing clear through the guardrail and leaving the front wheels spinning uselessly over empty space.

Then came a pickup towing a powerboat on a trailer. Its' brakes locked and the tires squealed, burning a streak of rubber into the pavement. The trailer began to fishtail slightly as both it and the truck skidded sideways and careened into the growing pileup.

One last unlucky car t-boned the truck at the joint with the trailer, snapping them apart and very nearly sending the boat flying.

And then it was finally over.

Eleven dented and mangled vehicles sat at all sorts of strange angles in both lanes of the highway, the sun glinting off millions of tiny shards of glass that now littered the asphalt. For a moment, everything was eerily still. The only sounds were the blaring of several stuck horns and steam hissing from sprung and crumpled hoods.

Then another, far more terrible noise, distant and faint among all the others, reached Henry's ears.

The sound of children wailing in fear.

Was a child hurt? Or dead?

Henry felt a chill, but it was not from the shadows of the forest that surrounded them. Rather, it was from a deep-seated feeling of guilt beginning to well up inside of him, and a suddenly sickness in the pit of his stomach. This was not what he had bargained for. Not at all.

Mark had tricked him.

Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes, clouding his vision. Then Henry felt someone tugging at the back of his shirt. It had to be Mark, but Henry simply could not look at him.

People began to emerge from their wrecked vehicles, running to try and help others who were trapped. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Henry looked up and saw that cars had stopped in both lanes and were starting to back up as far as he could see in either direction.

Those people in the cars closest to the accident had gotten out. Some just stood and watched on in shock, while others ran toward the battered and tangled mess of cars to see if they could help.

"Come _on_," Henry heard Mark say as he tugged on his sleeve again, impatience audibly rising in his voice as he hurriedly began repacking their bags. But Henry remained rooted to the spot. What he was seeing... It was...awful.

It was amazing, and even miraculous to Henry that, for the moment, no one appeared to be seriously injured. He was still concerned about whoever had to be in the car that had breached the guardrail and now teetered precariously over the ravine.

Now several people who had seemed to regain their composure started toward the north end of the bridge, and the smoking pile of melted wreckage that had once been Mark's drone.

Mark smacked Henry in the back of the head. "Stop standing around like a window dummy and _COME ON_!" he hissed angrily, shoving the empty backpack into Henry's arms. Then he took off running down the trail.

Henry quickly shouldered the bag, and had no choice but to follow.

As they ran, Mark jumped into the air with a voice of triumph and shouted, "Did you SEE that?! Dozens of cars!" He looked over at Henry. "We did it!"

_We?! _

Henry was filled with a miserable mix of remorse and dread. How had it happened? How could he have even been a part of it?

Suddenly Henry felt a hand grab his arm and pull him to a stop, near where the tree line finally ended. Mark stood beside him stock-still, listening. At first, Henry didn't hear anything. All he was aware of was the cool darkness oppressively surrounding him.

Then he heard it: the sound of distant emergency sirens, getting closer by the second, and a low droning noise that Henry couldn't immediately identify. Within seconds, he spied a brief flash of red and blue through the trees, and Mark's grip on his arm tightened in anxiety.

"This way!" Mark gasped as he suddenly dragged Henry further along the trail, as if back toward the highway.

"Where are we _going_?!" Henry asked, his voice equally confused and fearful at the same time.

Off to the left of the trail was a huge, weather-worn boulder.

Mark dragged them both behind the giant rock and instantly crouched down behind it, while Henry just stood there as if in a daze.

"Get down!" Mark hissed, yanking at Henry's arm and pulling him almost to the ground.

The blaring sirens of the emergency vehicles, as well as that strange, low droning noise were both growing louder.

"I – I didn't know... I didn't... I couldn't have... why did you... what..." Henry said, jabbering and stuttering in fits and starts, overcome by a heavy feeling of remorse.

"Just shut up," Mark hissed through clenched teeth.

Moments later, two squad cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance went blasting by on the highway below, their wailing and pulsing sirens nearly deafening Henry in the process. He stayed crouched behind the boulder in miserable, stunned silence.

How could this have happened? How? The whole thing was starting to spin out of control into an almost movie-level nightmare. Why did Mark do it?

_The bigger question is, why did he seem to enjoy it? Like with the dog_...

His cousin had to be crazy, plain and simple. Anyone twisted enough to enjoy other people's pain and suffering had to be.

The last of the emergency vehicles roared by on the road below, but that droning noise was now fairly loud in its' own right and seemed to be coming from right above.

Henry sat down hard in the dirt and stared up into the sky as an oblong gray object that tapered to a small point at the front emerged into view above. It was a zeppelin, with markings that identified it as belonging to Mendocino County PD.

As soon as the zeppelin had half-propelled itself, half-drifted out over the water and began heading in the direction of the 'accident', Henry felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. His head jerked up and to the side. He found himself staring into Mark's eerily calm face and that ever-confident, disarming grin.

It was disturbing.

Henry stared into his eyes, incredulous.

"Hey, relax, man," Mark said nonchalantly, his voice smooth and unperturbed. "Nobody got hurt."

"As far as we _know_. But – but, that's not the point here," Henry replied.

"Wait – I didn't know that those drivers would react like that. I mean, they just totally lost it," Mark said, his tone and attitude suddenly filled with an all-too unlikely innocence.

Henry's composure finally snapped. "Do you know what you did?!" he angrily cried out, his voice seething with suppressed rage. "You just basically committed an act of terrorism!"

The smile on Mark 's face surprised him, but shouldn't have. "What _I_ did? Terrorism? Hey, come on, man. _We_ did it together!"

A sudden wave of panic engulfed Henry. "We – we could go to jail! The FBI's probably gonna be out here by tonight!" he cried.

Mark just shrugged and nodded. His tone was calm. "Probably sooner, too. But will they have any evidence linking it to _us_ specifically? No. I made absolutely certain of that."

Henry's jaw dropped.

"Besides," Mark said, "I thought you said that you _liked_ explosions!"

"I – I do, but n-not this kind!" Henry stuttered. "This could have actually killed someone!"

Mark nodded. "Exactly."

Henry just stared back at him, speechless.

Mark finally stood to his feet and gave Henry a seemingly impenetrable grin.

It was unnatural the way he acted. Reluctantly, Henry followed and walked out far ahead of Mark, trying as best as he could to ignore him.

As they were walking along the road, back the way they had come, a series of tow trucks rumbled by, heading in the direction of the bridge. Not far behind the boys, a traffic jam was slowly and continually building. The blaring of car horns rose up in the distance, their drivers' curiosity seemingly replaced by impatience and annoyance.

Unfortunately for them, and many other people, their wait would not be over anytime soon.

So much hardship and damage and pain.

And Mark thought that it was nothing but a big joke.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon and all through the evening, Henry was once again quiet. At dinner, he barely even touched his food. His stomach felt as though it were in a knot: a knot of guilt over what had happened, confusion over what to do about it, and fear of what would happen next. Specifically, what would Mark do next?

What was going on in that twisted brain of his?

When Janice noticed her older nephew's supposed lack of appetite, she asked if he was okay.

Henry almost told her about that afternoon, but somehow, he simply couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't. Not to her, anyway.

_How would Mark react? _

_He'd more than likely deny it. _

Instead, Henry made up a little story about eating some candy in town earlier that must have ruined his appetite.

All through the meal, Mark seemed to stare at him. But it wasn't as if he was worried or scared that Henry might say something. Every time Henry glanced in his direction, Mark looked back with an almost bemused expression on his face. Almost as if he was daring Henry to say something.

Not wanting to face Mark again after dinner, Henry decided to help Janice clean up. She was standing at the sink, rinsing dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Henry sidled up beside her and began scraping leftover food from the plates into the disposal with a metal spatula.

"Oh, Henry... You don't have to help, dear," Janice said.

"It's no trouble. Besides, I want to," Henry replied.

"I can take care of this," Janice said. "Why don't you go off and play with Mark or your sibs for a little while?"

Henry simply shrugged. Janice glanced over at him and frowned. "Is something bothering you, Henry?"

When he didn't respond, Janice pressed another question, but gently.

"Is it because your dad hasn't called for a few days? Or is it Richard's little letdown yesterday afternoon?"

No. Neither of those was the reason.

His father had called them after landing in Hong Kong, and had warned Henry that it might be difficult to call for the next several days. He'd be very busy. And, the time difference was such that even when he could call, Henry would probably be sound asleep.

As for Richard, Henry still worried about him, like usual, but he'd given his little brother that good talking-to and hopefully, an equally good reason to keep his mind occupied until their father returned.

Henry certainly couldn't tell his aunt the real reason as to why he had been so silent and gloomy since that afternoon, so he just decided to use his father as one.

"Sort of," Henry replied, shrugging.

Janice nodded, her features and tone clearly sympathetic. "I imagine it's not easy for you, Connie, or Richard."

Henry nodded back.

_Strange... I completely forgot about everything with Dad_. _What with this new issue taking center stage and all_...

_Mark_.

By now, the temptation to tell Janice was almost overwhelming.

_But how could I? _

Just like yesterday at lunch, Henry realized just why he couldn't say anything. Despite how friendly his aunt had been, not to mention that strange connection he'd felt when they first met, he was still a stranger in this house.

And, they hardly knew each other. Not exactly ideal conditions – as if there ever were – for telling a mother that her firstborn was a potential killer.

"Did your father say when he'd call back?" Janice asked.

"When he had the time," Henry said. "I understand that it's hard for him. He's got a lot to do while he's over there."

Janice nodded and smiled slightly. "It's good that you understand that, Henry. A lot of boys your age wouldn't."

"It kinda helps that I have a lot to do on my own, too," Henry replied, a knowing look on his face.

His aunt then abruptly changed topics. "Will you be ready to leave later?" she asked.

"What for? The concert?"

Janice nodded.

"Don't worry about me," Henry said. "I'll just need to make sure Connie and Rich are."

"I appreciate your support, Henry. It means a lot to me."

Henry gave her a little smile. "You're welcome. I know a worthy cause when I see one."

Even after the dishes were finally done, Henry sat at the counter on one of the bar stools, pretending to surf the Internet on his phone.

He was really just trying to avoid Mark for as long as humanly possible.

Janice and Chloe were on the sofa out in the living room, with Chloe snuggled up against her mother, fully absorbed in the contents of her e-reader, while Janice absently kept her eyes on the news, with the volume muted.

The TV out there was a huge 55-inch LCD with a top-of-the-line sound system, and consequently anything seen or heard on it was rather hard to miss.

As Mark came into the room, he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor, taking the TV remote with him and 'accidentally' turning the volume back on. He profusely apologized to his mother and kept on walking.

Henry was reading an article on his phone about Sony's recently announced 'PlayStation' video game console, due out late next year, when he heard something about a suspected militia bombing and eleven-car pileup closing down a section of SR 1.

Henry looked up from his phone and took a peek at the TV. What he saw on there made the blood drain from his face.

The bridge, clogged with the wrecks of nearly a dozen vehicles.

One lane on either end, with long, single-file lines of cars waiting for the road to reopen.

The car that had breached the guardrail being pulled to safety by a tow truck.

Finally, groups of people swarming over the scorched impact site. Probably the FBI.

The TV crew must have shot the scene from an overflying helicopter or zeppelin.

Now the scene on the TV abruptly switched from day to night, and the view changed to one on the ground. A woman with light brown hair then stepped in front of the camera. In the background, a string of light poles on either side of the road lit up the highway and cars occasionally flashed by.

"What you just saw was the scene over this stretch of the SR 1 for many hours earlier today. Traffic was backed-up in both the north and southbound lanes for many miles on either side of the bridge. But as you can see now, things are at last moving along at a normal pace. Sherriff Vincent of the Mendocino County Police Department says it was nothing short of a miracle that no one was seriously injured."

The scene now jumped back to the studio, and the woman alongside the highway became a face on a newsroom monitor. A silver-haired man attired in a plain gray suit was sitting at a news desk and faced the monitor.

"Now, Jane, there hasn't been any official word from the FBI, correct?" the man asked.

The woman nodded. "That's correct. But sentiments among some of the locals and victims of the accident are that this attack was the responsibility of one of the regional militia groups."

_Militia! _

Henry's grip on his phone tightened and he quickly shoved it into his jeans pocket. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. That feeling only intensified when Mark strode out into the kitchen and retrieved a can of Mug Root Beer from the fridge. The boys locked eyes, and Mark gave Henry a knowing smile.

Henry shuddered involuntarily and felt goose bumps run down his arms and a sudden chill race up his spine. He couldn't stand it!

He had to get away from Mark. Now.

Henry bolted from the kitchen and toward the stairs, nearly slipping on the floor in the process. He scrambled up the stairs, feet thudding on the carpet.

Janice looked up and watched Henry disappear onto the upstairs landing. She raised an eyebrow, bewildered.

_What was that all about? Maybe he __isn't__ all right, despite what he keeps claiming_, she thought. _But in any case, I should probably wait before talking with him again_.

Then Mark walked in, sipping from the can of soda.

Janice turned to her son. "Mark. Any idea what's going on with Henry?"

Mark shook his head. "None. But now that you mention it, he's been acting kinda strange for the past couple of days. If you want, I can go see if he's okay."

His mother gave him a smile. "That'd be very nice of you, hon."

Mark smiled back at Janice and started toward the stairs, his soda still in hand.

Just out of sight on the upstairs landing, Henry heard Mark's footsteps ascending the stairs, and immediately made a beeline for Mark's room.

He didn't know what he was going to do now. Only that he had to do _something_.

This wasn't a game anymore. Mark was crazy, and now he had turned against Henry.

As soon as he was inside Mark's room, Henry shut the door behind him. He was tempted to lock it. He turned on the lights. He had to think, had to figure out a way to deal with this. Henry walked over to one of the windows and stared out over the darkened yard, his gaze blank.

A few seconds later, he heard footsteps in the hall. Then a slight creak as the door opened.

"Ah-ha. There you are," Mark said, as if he'd found some kind of prize.

Henry stiffened involuntarily. His cousin was really starting to give him the creeps.

More footsteps. Then the scuffling of wood against the carpet as Mark pulled out the chair in front of his workbench. Henry turned slightly and glanced out of the corner of his eye. Mark was sitting backwards in the chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"So, Henry... I told _Janice_ that I'd see if you were okay. Are you?" Mark asked.

Those words were underlain by a distinct tone of malice and mocking laughter.

Henry's older cousin knew that he had won.

_This round._

_And 'Janice'?! She's his mother for crying out loud! Why would he call her by her name?_ Henry asked himself. No answer was readily forthcoming.

"Leave me alone," Henry muttered under his breath.

"Leave _you_ alone?" Mark asked in an amused tone, chuckling slightly as he downed the rest of his root beer. "This is _my_ room."

Henry shook his head. _Just ignore him_, he thought. _Wait until Dad returns, and then I can get Connie and Rich out of this crazy place once and for all_.

Jack's house had gone from a place where Henry could feel comfortable to just plain awkward and Mark had gone from being a friend to an undeclared enemy in less than twenty-four hours.

"Did you see the TV?" Mark asked.

Henry sat down in Mark's desk chair and stared over at his cousin. "You could have killed people today," Henry muttered angrily.

"With _your_ help," Mark replied.

"Wait a second. I – I didn't know you were going to do that!" Henry protested.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think you were kind of encouraging me all the way, Henry."

Henry stared at him, dumbfounded.

"I mean, I didn't do anything like this until you came along," Mark said.

Henry's jaw dropped so far he almost had to pick it up off the floor.

"But don't worry," Mark said, his voice casual. "I won't tell anyone as long as you don't."

At that moment, Henry stood up from the chair fast enough to send it spinning, strode over to Mark, and seized him by the arm.

"You're sick!" Henry hissed through his teeth, now barely suppressing his rage.

Mark spoke at him in an eerily calm voice, not inches from his face.

"Hey, I promised you something truly amazing. Something you'd never forget... where's the friggin' gratitude?"

_Gratitude?!_

In the space of a split second, Mark tried to lever a hand under Henry's chin, and Henry spun away, dragging Mark with him. The boys were soon locked together in a fierce wrestling match, tumbling, rolling, and crashing around on Mark's floor. Several times, someone would pin the other down in an attempt to end the battle, but each time, someone else would regain the upper hand.

It was just short of throwing punches.

Now there was another set of footsteps out in the hall. Lighter ones. It was Chloe, and she now stood just inside the open doorway, wearing her school clothes and looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Guys, you should get dressed. Mom says it's almost time to leave," she said.

The boys abruptly froze in mid-fight, with Mark having pinned Henry to the floor, an arm pressing down on his throat and a knee on his chest.

"Chloe?" Mark said tersely, letting Henry go and standing to his feet.

"Yup?" Chloe replied, nervously bouncing a little on her feet.

"What did I tell you about coming into my room?" her brother asked as he advanced, glowering.

"But you weren't working on anything. You guys were just wrestling around on the floor."

Mark cupped both hands and tightly gripped either side of his sister's neck.

"Ow!" Chloe yelped. "That hurts. Let go."

Mark held tight while his sister squirmed in pain.

"Please, Mark," she cried. "You're hurting me!"

"You didn't answer my question," Mark said, completely ignoring her. "So, I'll have to do it for you. You are not allowed in here. Not even an inch. This is not your place. You never, never, never, set foot in –"

He didn't get the chance to finish the sentence as Henry grabbed him by the throat and yanked him backward, forcing Mark to release Chloe.

A look of surprise formed on Chloe's face. No one had ever stood up to Mark like this.

"Urggh..." A gurgling noise came from Mark's throat as he tried to pry Henry's hands off his neck. Henry forced him across the room and slammed his cousin as hard as he could against the bunk bed ladder, briefly dazing Mark.

Henry glared into Mark's surprised face.

"You're wrong..." Henry said vehemently, once again, barely able to contain his fury. "This is my room, too... and I say she can stay!"

Mark managed to pry Henry's hands away from his neck. The boys glared at each other. And as Henry felt his hands lose their grip, he quickly reached up, grabbed two handfuls of Mark's hair and pulled. Mark almost instantly did the same.

They were locked together with their heads tilted down, like a pair of rams in battle, each with a grip on the other's hair. But neither of them was prepared to let go, or to give in and acknowledge the pain.

"Mom! Mom!" Henry heard Chloe shout and run out of the room.

The pain was agonizing, but Henry wouldn't let go. It felt as if Mark was trying to rip his scalp off. Unwanted tears forced their way from Henry's eyes, but he refused to give in to this certifiable nutcase who called himself his cousin. Both of their heads soon began to twist in opposite directions, faces red and contorted with equal parts' pain and determination.

"So, you like my little sister, do you?" Mark asked in a low voice, his words now taking on an almost fiendish quality.

"Drop dead," Henry replied, practically spitting the words out.

"You like doing jigsaws with her, don't you? Well... isn't that a shame. Your sister likes playing dolls with her? Aah, the little dollies... Isn't it all just too sad? Such sweet little kids – I hope that nothing happens to either of them – it would be such a pity."

Henry stared at Mark in growing horror.

"I bet that you'd be sad. Wouldn't you, Henry?"

From anyone else it would have been just another idle threat. But from Mark... who knew? It could very well be real. Why should he stop at killing dogs and almost killing total strangers?

Besides, Henry already knew that Mark couldn't stand sharing things, either. Why should _that_ stop at baseballs and jackets? Now it seemed to include Chloe, too, despite the fact that he essentially hated her. Even worse, Mark had included Connie as well.

It made no sense. There were simply no limits with Henry's cousin. Mark did anything he wanted to do.

"You wouldn't dare!" Henry gasped, as much from shock as the pain. The thought was incredible – that Mark would seriously try to hurt either of their little sisters.

"Hey, accidents happen," Mark said in a low, nasty chuckle vaguely reminiscent of Freddy Krueger. "Just ask my mom about little Matty."

Henry's eyes widened in surprise. Mark wasn't actually admitting that he...

"You're sick," Henry whispered back, his tone shocked.

"Mark! Henry!" Janice's astonished voice startled them. The boys instantly let each other go and stood to face the door, where Mark's mother stood with Chloe behind her, staring at them. Janice was wearing her green dress and had her hair up in a ponytail.

"Are you two fighting?" Janice asked, stepping into the room. Then she turned toward her son. "Mark?"

Mark stepped toward his mother, and abruptly transformed himself from the crazy, malicious tormentor that Henry now knew him to be, into the smiling and ever-charming young boy who could somehow do no wrong in the eyes of his mother. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood in front of Janice, staring innocently up into her eyes.

"Aw... I'm sorry, Mom. We were playing this really dumb game – pulling hair to see who would say 'Ow' first. We weren't fighting at all. We were in it together... Weren't we, Henry?" Mark asked, staring back at him.

Henry could feel Janice's gaze land on him. He desperately wanted to say something, to tell his aunt the truth, but once again, he knew that she probably wouldn't believe him.

He scratched at his head, and then looked over at Janice.

"That's right – it was just a stupid game," Henry muttered.

Janice looked relieved.

Mark's face lit up in a huge grin. "We didn't really mean to upset Chloe, did we? Sorry, sis," he said, affectionately wrapping his arm around his sister's shoulders and giving her a little squeeze.

To Henry, Chloe looked a bit uncomfortable, but she put on a forced smile nonetheless.

"I'm glad you feel that way, honey," Janice said. "Just don't play so rough, okay? For a second there, I thought you two were trying to kill each other."

_If only she knew how close she was to the truth_...

"Now, you both should get ready to leave. Dress appropriately, but don't go too formal. We leave for the school at nine."

"Got it, Mom," Mark replied, giving her a thumbs-up sign.

As Janice and Chloe turned and left the room, Mark looked back at Henry with a triumphant grin. Then as Henry glared back at him with a mixture of anger and fear, he suddenly remembered what Mark had said about Chloe and Connie.

"Don't you even think of doing anything to your sister – _or mine_. You got that?" Henry said, growling.

Mark just gave him a contemptuous smirk and walked out of the room with a smug air about him.

This was all beginning to spiral out of control.

And Henry had no idea of how to stop it.

* * *

_A/N: Keep the reviews coming! With this chapter posted, the story's roughly halfway finished. (I'm currently planning another twelve chapters or so, and then the epilogue). _

_Stay tuned - Chapter 14: For Whose Benefit? is next up. _


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